


Bound to be

by crystaljins



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Also Chloe is chloe so don't expect her to be sunshine and butterflies ahaha, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Fluff, Lila does not come across as very nice in this, Marriage of Convenience, Misunderstandings, Modern Royalty, Prince!Adrien, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, be prepared for her to do some not very nice things, even i'm not sure what to expect from this tbh, it's part of her character charm tbh, lostprincess!Marinette, not much plot either lol, should also probably warn y'all, some angst-ing, wow more fluff than I expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 53,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crystaljins/pseuds/crystaljins
Summary: Adrien decides he will marry Marinette in his father’s study, surrounded by dusty books, thick stacks of papers detailing state policies and the cloying, sickening scent of lilies clinging to the corners.Marinette decides she will marry Adrien in a hospital, sitting beside her gray-faced father and surrounded by sick patients, occupied beds, the incessant beeping of life support machines and the sharp, almost sweet scent of disinfectant.Only, neither of them have met before.





	1. Chapter 1

**I'm excited! My first ever fic on ao3 :') I hope you all enjoy it!**

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**Chapter 1: There's bound to be some sort of misunderstanding**

 

Adrien first learns of his engagement in his father’s study. It is a cramped, confined space. The air is thick with dust and the sickeningly sweet scent of lilies that clung to the corner. Adrien is surprised the scent remains after such a long period of time, but his father rarely airs the room and so scents seem to cling and lie heavy in the air. Papers, important state papers, are stacked neatly but nearly overflow off the expensive mahogany desk that is carefully placed in the centre of the room. The desk seems to sink into the plush purple carpet beneath it. On the wall behind the desk is his family’s coat of arms, and beneath it, in an expensive black leather chair, his father is always seated. Adrien has never seen the spot beneath the coat of arms unoccupied, and he has never seen his father slump or slouch, even after hours of peering at a computer screen. He always sits with his spine severely straight. Sometimes his long, thin fingers are laced together in front of his face and sometimes they rest on the armrests of his chair. On this particular occasion, King Gabriel Agreste peers curiously at his son over the stacks of important papers with an expression that borders on indifference.

Adrien had sensed this day was coming- he had never held any foolish notions of marrying for love, when he knew his father would one day choose his bride for him, one that would benefit their kingdom the most. In the past few months he had known the day was approaching like a noose slowly tightening around his neck as the King’s popularity with the public plummeted and discussions of Kingdom Noir’s future as a monarchy began to creep into news articles. Still, he cannot help the surprise from showing on his expression.

“So soon?” He responds, his voice reduced to a soft croak. His father nods, glancing down at the papers set before him.

“The sooner the better.” He responds. He glances up at his son. “You may have heard of her- she’s been in the press a lot recently. Her kingdom seems to find her charming enough, and I daresay you may even find her… _amiable_.”

He says the word like its dirty, his eyebrows furrowing as his mouth shapes the words. Like enjoying the company of the one you are meant to wed is a distasteful thing, like affection has no place in a marriage. The notion is ironic considering the love he had held for the late queen was famous across nearly all the kingdoms in the world. They had once featured on a magazine because they had won a worldwide poll declaring them the most beloved couple in all the world. Adrien wonders where the man who had loved his wife so ardently is. This man before him has a cold, uncracked façade. Adrien does not hold any of that grace and even a year down the track cannot seem to dislodge the tight feeling in his throat that reminds him of the agonizing grief he still feels.

His father slides a file towards him, and Adrien accepts it, opening it to find the hesitant smile of the lost princess gazing up at him. He recognises the photo- it had plastered news sites, magazines and newspapers for weeks just a short few months ago. “ _The lost princess, found!_ ” he remembers one headline declaring. He is unsurprised at his father’s choice- the public adored her, her kingdom adored her, and was there a better love story than the beloved princess who had vanished for 20 years falling for and marrying the world’s most eligible bachelor, Prince Adrien Agreste? Since his aim is clearly to use his son’s marriage to dilute discussions of a dismissal of the monarchy, it is only natural that he choose the most popular and soon to be most powerful woman in the world.

Apparently she went by Marinette Dupain-cheng- that was the last name borne by the people who had unknowingly adopted the young princess and housed her for the passed twenty years, from when she was a mere toddler until now. Her official title, however, is Crown Princess Ladybug of the Coccinelle Kingdom.  Her smile is sweet enough, beaming up at him from the file in his hands, though that is little consolation. He briefly feels compassion for her- he doubts her sudden engagement is of her own consent- no doubt wiser authority figures do not want a princess ignorant to all matters of state running their country, and this engagement is obviously an attempt to ensure that when she rightfully inherits her crown. Particularly with the sudden death of the king and queen- having her inherit the throne immediately would be unthinkable. No doubt they would want someone appropriate and capable of ruling placed on the throne. This is clearly meant to be him. His father obtains the merger of the century, their popularity will no doubt skyrocket and banish all discussions of dismissal of the monarchy, and the other kingdom secures a stable and capable ruler to replace their late monarchs. All parties involved are faced with only benefits, except the only two actually entering the engagement.

His father evidently decides Adrien has had enough time to process, and after being informed that his schedule and any important dates moving forward would be passed on to him by Gabriel’s advisor, Adrien is dismissed from the room. He isn’t given the option to protest, or even voice an opinion on his impending nuptials and instead he finds himself outside his father’s study, breathing in the clean air. His nostrils burn from the sweet scent of the lilies he had been forced to endure and the file in his arms is heavy.

Once more Adrien opens the file and peers at the smiling face inside. She looks confused and unsure- her startling blue eyes are wide and there is a slight crease between her brows, but otherwise her smile is sweet and full. This woman would be his wife- this is the woman he is to spend the rest of his life with. He probably will not meet her until the day of their marriage, and he doesn’t know anything about her other than what the brief headline that had crossed his path chose to announce about her.

He had never entertained any foolish notions that he would be free to marry for love but the taste in his mouth is still bitter as he closes the file and her smiling face leaves his view.

++

Marinette decides to get married in a hospital. Her father is asleep beside her, and each passing moment is marked by the beep of the heart monitor. In her memories, her father has always seemed larger than life- huge and warm and full of life and love, but he looks oddly small surrounded by the pristine white of the hospital bedding. She inhales deeply and regrets it- the air is sharp with the scent of disinfectant, and it burns her lungs as she inhales. On the other side of her father’s bed, her mum is sleeping peacefully in the chair, but the dark circles beneath her eyes betray just how much of a luxury this power nap is. Marinette chews her lip as the conversation with the doctor echoes in her mind. They could not afford this treatment, was the reality. They were humble bakers, and the treatment her father would need going forward was far beyond their means.

Her eyes sting as she watches his chest rise and fall slowly and the back of her throat is tight and sticky with unshed tears. Briefly, she recalls another conversation she had recently, one that would no doubt solve the dilemma before her. But it came with its own set of complications. She is still reeling from the shock that these two people before her are not her birth parents, and yet the people she had spoken to expect to step up as supposed princess of this kingdom. Not only that, but they have arranged for her engagement to a stranger, some prince of a foreign land who is supposedly a desirable bachelor, but that does not change the fact that he is a _stranger_. Someone she’s never met before. They are asking her to lead a country she didn’t know was hers, leave her parents and friends and everything she’s ever known behind, and marry a complete and total stranger!

Her dad shifts slightly in his sleep, and her heart aches. If he didn’t get this treatment, he would die. That is her reality now, and she cannot bear to lose him. She and her mother also cannot afford his treatment, unless she suddenly becomes rich. This is a rare and fortunate opportunity that she has been given, a chance to save her father, yet her heart trembles with fear at the obvious choice she must make.

When Marinette was small, she had sometimes thought that maybe her parents were not her own. Most children have this thought at some stage, but what made it strange was this odd recurring nightmare that she could never quite shake- the sounds of screams, of gunfire and the heat of a blazing inferno consuming everything she had had. Her parents insisted she had never experienced anything that could cause a dream like that, but the fact that even as an infant she could vividly recall the sensation of flames licking at the walls of a warmly painted nursery and the scent of burning flesh… that had always struck her as strange. Still, she had dismissed the thoughts, and now that she was well into adulthood, she had easily dismissed those thoughts as childish and ridiculous.

Then she had gone in for a blood test and physical exam a few short months ago to flag her as a possible donor should her father’s condition worsen, and an ugly burn scar on her back that her mother had insisted was from her knocking over a kettle when she was a toddler and an odd birth mark, a unique cluster of 5 spots just below her clavicle, a bit like the pattern one might find on a ladybug had set off alarm bells in her doctor’s mind. The marks were consistent with reports of the mysterious lost princess. He had secretly contacted the late Queen’s father for some testing to confirm his suspicions. When the results came back and it became clear that Marinette was not a suitable donor for her supposed biological father, some truths that turned her world upside down came pouring forth.

Apparently the lost princess had gone missing in a fire. There had been some political uprisings around the time that Marinette was born. A small but vocal group of people had grown discontent with the monarchy and had decided to make themselves known. The tensions had culminated in the royal palace being burnt to the ground. The infant princess had not made it out of the inferno, but no searching of the wreckage had produced a body. As it turned out, a member of the so-called resistance later came forward, several years later, telling the story of how he and his comrade had saved the princess’s life. He was being trialled for his crimes at the time, and at first the story was written off as a blatant lie. His comrade had supposedly taken her and put her in an orphanage, though what orphanage it was remained unknown, as the comrade had died shortly after. But the resistance member had evidence- pictures of the infant princess that the Queen herself had not seen, a royal necklace that the baby had worn that should have been lost in the inferno along with her life, and a lock of her hair. Thus the legend of the lost princess came to life. Somewhere out there, a child who thought they were an orphan was actually a princess. The King and Queen had scoured orphanages in hope of finding their daughter, but eventually the pain of disappointed hopes became too much and the search was abandoned. The King and Queen would never see their missing a daughter again.

That daughter was apparently Marinette, and what came next was the press, the newspaper articles, and one day an elderly man with squinted, wisened eyes and a short, hunched figure had approached her home.

He was advisor to the late King and father to the late Queen, who had passed suddenly and unexpectedly earlier that year. When he had begun to detail what taking her place in her birth family and as true heir would entail, duties she didn’t know how to perform and marriage to a person she did not know, Marinette had realised she did not want anything to do with the world this man was offering. She didn’t want a lick of it- not the high status, not the etiquette classes and certainly not the restricted freedom. Still, she had humoured him with the publicity events and the interviews and the meetings, if only because at least it was a distraction. A chance to breath in clean air instead of disinfectant. She had eventually declined his request for her to actually take up the crown, however.

Yet here she is, trying to crunch numbers in her head in a way that could allow them to afford this treatment.

She knows in her heart though, that there is only one way out of this mess.

A single tear drips down her cheek as she dials the number the old man had left with her.

++

Adrien is not afforded the luxury of meeting his future spouse until the day of her dress fitting. Nathalie, advisor to his father, had intended for their first meeting to be the day that they reviewed the documents detailing the conditions of their marriage, but an unintended scheduling conflict led to Adrien simply reviewing the marriage contract on his phone as a smooth black sedan transported him to the airport where he was to meet with some foreign diplomats and accompany them as they toured his kingdom. He remembers an unpleasant ache brewing in his chest as he scanned through the details of the contract, detailing the conditions of the merging of their kingdom, the division of their assets, the requirement for them to live together- it even went so far as to specify the requirement for an heir at some point in the future. He wonders if Princess Marinette had reviewed the document with similar levels of unease and nervousness. Surely the idea of a marriage of convenience is repulsive to her, since she had been brought up thinking that one day she would marry for love, if marriage is something she even desired in the first place. He isn’t aware of what became of Marinette when their intended meeting was cancelled, but he had received word that their first meeting would be postponed. And here he is now, surprisingly nervous as the royal tailor flits around him, adjusting his royal garb, awaiting Marinette’s arrival.

“Hold out your arms.” The tailor instructs, and Adrien is hesitant to stretch his arms out full, terrified of the multitude of pins that secure his outercoat in place. He can almost envision them piercing his skin, though perhaps the prickling, burning sensation on his skin is more a result of nerves then a fear of the pins.

To his right, perched on an ornate couch with a bored expression and with one leg crossed elegantly over the other, the prime minister’s daughter, Chloe, observes the tailor work. He hadn’t particularly wanted her to be present when he met his fiancée, since he is well aware of her tendency to be rather nasty to people she wasn’t fond of, but Chloe had insisted. It is her way of being supportive, he supposes, even if that supportiveness is currently manifesting itself by way of criticizing his future wife and his decision to wed her. Which, unfortunately, is the last thing Adrien needs right now when his stomach is knotted and his palms are slick with sweat.

“All I’m saying, Adrikins,” Chloe continues, as if the tailor hadn’t interrupted her tirade. “You don’t _have_ to marry her.”

Adrien is silent for a moment because the tailor requests that he turn slowly to allow her to evaluate if the fit is appropriate. When she returns to making minor adjustments once more, Adrien is careful with his next words.

“I want to.” The words are soft, and perhaps laced with a sadness that is contrary to the sentiment, but they are genuine.

Chloe scoffs.

“Sure. And I want to donate all my assets to charity and spend the rest of my days in a soup kitchen.” She responded sarcastically.

“I do.” He protests. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t uneasy, or that I was looking forward to this… but ultimately the decision to get married is my own, and for the sake of my kingdom it is one that I willingly make.”

Chloe leans forward and reaches for the wine glass set before her on the low coffee table, taking a long sip of some velvety, expensive red wine. She then leans back, slowly rocking the glass and watching it slosh against the glass with an unpleasant expression on her face. Then she speaks again.

“Listen up very carefully, Adrikins, because I will say this once and once only. And these are probably the only genuine words you will hear out of my mouth for the next year.” She says, leaning forward to watch him with squinted blue eyes. She folds her elbow on the armrest of her couch and perches her chin in her hand. “You cannot handle this. If it weren’t enough that you’re secretly a huge romantic sap and the thought of marrying someone you don’t love is killing you inside, then the fact that you are most definitely still processing _and_ grieving everything that’s happened this year on top of that is more than enough. This will break you.”

Adrien’s silence speaks more than enough and Chloe narrows her eyes meanly when he is unable to respond.

He is unable to protest or attempt a lie because that is the precise moment his fiancée arrives.

Adrien is unsure what he expected for his first meeting with her. Perhaps he had hoped that he would suddenly be zapped with the mystical and fictional sensation of love at first sight. Perhaps he had thought he would be utterly indifferent at the woman standing before him.

None of his secret musings prepare him for the way his heart tightens unpleasantly with anxiety as soon as he registers her presence. He realizes, in that moment, as his throat closes over and his heart drops like a stone in his chest into his stomach, the weight and _truth_ of Chloe’s words. He could not do this. He had never foolishly allowed himself the fantasy of marrying for love, but he had never realized how desperately he had clung to the hope that he would one day be able to until Marinette’s presence evaporated that secret, desperate, subconscious hope.

Marinette is small in stature compared to him, with dark, midnight hair that curls slightly around her round face and falls at shoulder length. She wears a pink, summery dress that falls modestly at her knees and her blue eyes are wide and searching. In person, her complexion is warmer than the blurry, low quality images of her that have been released thus far, and she has a charming scattering of freckles beneath her eyes. She is beautiful.

None of this is a comfort to him.

“Hello, you must be the Prince.” Marinette says, with an awkward and uncoordinated curtsy, like she only learned to do it within the last few days.

Adrien’s tongue feels like it has swelled to three times its size and words escape him in that moment, and so he opts instead to bow, though restricted by his half-fitted outfit, he is only able to somewhat incline his head. Marinette looks slightly disheartened at his lack of response, and guilt is added to the list of messy emotions that are currently plaguing him.

“And I’m sorry, I don’t know your name…” She says slowly to Chloe. Chloe scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“You will.” Chloe responds.

Marinette glances away, and greets the royal tailor, who quickly ushers her behind the curtain in the far corner of the room where her expensive, designer wedding dress is waiting. It was a dress kept under lock and key, speculated about in magazines, and it cost a small fortune. He wonders if Marinette was able to have a hand in choosing her dress, or if it was chosen for her just like her fiancée was. He has not seen the dress himself.

The brief reprieve allows him to notice his surroundings, and that means that he notices Chloe is scheming. He’s known her since he was a small boy, and so he can recognise that there is something unpleasant bubbling behind her narrowed gaze. Marinette steps out in a gauzy, cotton candy like dress that floats around her like a cloud. It is the dress that every little girl will one day dream of marrying in, and that will be plastered across magazine covers for months to come. She flushes a little in it, trying to smooth down the lacy skirt and it is in her distraction that Chloe puts her plan into action.

Adrien has always prided himself on his quick reactions, but he is not quick enough- he leaps forward to grab the wine glass out of Chloe’s hands before she can throw it at Marinette, but the momentum is already too much and all that happens is he manages to wrench it from Chloe’s grasp and end up throwing the wine in Marinette’s face himself.

For a minute, Marinette blinks dumbly, and the maroon liquid trickling down her face and soaking into the world’s most expensive wedding dress looks eerily like blood. She looks confused, her gaze flicking back from Chloe to Adrien, trying to process what has just happened. It seems to sink in and when tears fill her large blue eyes as her gaze anchors on Adrien, he realizes just how bad this looks. She hadn’t been watching when Chloe had started to throw the glass. With the glass now in Adrien’s hands and the missing moment in Marinette’s recollection, it no doubt looks like he just threw a glass of wine in her face. For no reason.

The horrified noise the tailor makes when she realizes what has happened is a great representation of how Adrien currently feels. No doubt the horror shows on his expression as Marinette hoists up her skirts and legs it out of the room, still in the wedding dress and still covered in wine.

Adrien whirls on Chloe, though he isn’t sure what he plans to say. Chloe just glances at him, at the expression on his face, and shrugs.

“I did tell you I wasn’t going to let you go through with this marriage.”

++

Marinette is no stranger to humiliation. She remembers from when she was a child that some of the other kids in her school liked to do mean things like steal her belongings and leave nasty things on her desk. The sensation she feels now is similar to what she felt back then- the humiliation burns her skin and stings her throat.  She feels stupid for crying, crouched in the first private corner she could find, wearing her stupid ruined wedding dress with her makeup dribbling down her cheeks in inky black rivulets. She should have worn waterproof mascara.

Had she thought this would be easy? If she had, Marinette now feels foolish at the sentiment. She had essentially signed her life away when she signed the marriage contract. In her desperation, she hadn’t really given much thought to the shadowy figure on the other side of the contract she had signed. The doctor’s concerned words as he had asked her how she intended to pay for the next lot of treatment her father required had echoed so loudly in her ears as she signed it had drowned out any consideration of who she was actually marrying.

Even as she had entered the fitting room, it had all felt so surreal, like she were dreaming. The strange feeling of detachment had followed her until she had laid eyes on her husband. His cold, barely there acknowledgement, and the mysterious woman who thought it appropriate to throw wine on one of the most expensive dresses every made… Reality had crashed down on her when that woman had thrown the wine at her. Her sneering façade, her bitter expression… it is clear as day that that woman is the Prince’s lover- why else would she want to throw wine at Marinette? Though the prince had tried to stop her, it is no comfort.

It had not occurred to Marinette before that moment that the Prince would have people he was being forced to part from. That he has a lover is no shock, but it is a surprisingly bitter revelation. Marinette hadn’t thought the prince would fall madly for her when they locked eyes, nothing of the sort, but she had expected him to at least be civil, perhaps even kind. Yet his cold demeanour at her entry and then the fact that he had brought his angry lover along to their dress-fittings leave her slightly nauseous as she realizes just what sort of person she is marrying.

Hesitantly, she pulls out her phone and scrolls through her contacts until the section where she had saved her Grandfather’s number. She glares at his contact information, almost ready to call it quits.

Then she recalls her father’s ashen face nestled amongst hospital blankets and a fresh wave of tears spills forth. She has to marry Adrien. No matter what history he holds or what sort of person he is… if she wants her father to live, she must marry Adrien. It is unfair- her father has lied to Marinette her whole life, but she must abandon all the bitterness and hurt that the lies bring just to keep him alive. And she must marry what appears to be a cold-hearted jerk who loves someone petty enough to throw wine at someone who doesn’t even want to be there.

Marinette starts at the sound of a camera going off. Glancing up, she finds a young woman who screams strange in everything from the large glasses perched precariously on the tip of her nose to the red-dyed tips of her hair. Marinette supposes she must look like quite the mess, because the moment the woman registers the smeared mascara and tear-stained cheeks, her triumphant expression changes into shock mixed in with something akin to guilt.

“Girl, I was just gonna snap and go, but dang, you look like you’ve got a lot on your plate.” She exclaims, setting herself down in the narrow space beside Marinette. Marinette is quiet, slightly speechless at this strange interruption. “I mean, I’m still gonna publish an article on you, but are you ok? Do you need someone to talk to? Is that wine or blood?”

“Wine.” Marinette croaks. The woman nods in relief.

“I’m Alya by the way. I snuck in here to see if I could grab some exclusive photos for a news company I work for. I’m a reporter.” She explains. Marinette nods.

“Of course you are.” She says slowly, glancing away. For some reason, Alya’s presence is comforting, even if Marinette had been warned by advisors from both her kingdom and the prince’s not to say too much to reporters. It could ruin everything, they had told her.

But… no one had asked her if she was ok so far. Not her grandfather, when he dropped the biggest bombshell on her imaginable, not her parents, not Adrien, no one. Marinette had had no one by her side up until now, and perhaps that’s what prompts her next actions.

“I’m miserable.” She admits. Alya nods sagely, taking in the stained wedding gown and Marinette’s teary eyes.

“I figured.” She responds. “Trouble in paradise? Your dreamy prince turn out to be not so dreamy?

Marinette nodded.

“I don’t know what I expected but… It just didn’t click, what marrying him would mean.” She admits. “It’s just too much… I didn’t even _know_ I was adopted but people expect me to somehow run a country, and now I’m marrying Adrien and it’s all too fast.” She is careful with her words and knows not to confide the whole story, but it is strangely relieving to admit at least that much. Alya nods.

“I’ve been keeping up with your story over the passed few months… you’ve been through a lot.” Alya says slowly. Marinette nods her agreement- Alya didn’t even know half the story. Her grandfather had been careful to ensure that not a word of her adopted parent’s current situation made it to public knowledge. Alya shifts slightly, rummaging in her bag. “Well, I’m still gonna publish an article on you, but since I feel bad, and have no interest in seeing the crown princess have a very public and very embarrassing meltdown, take this.” She hands Marinette a simple business card, warmly coloured with her number, email and full name on it. “If you need someone to talk to, you can call me. I promise I’ll only publish like, 50% of what you tell me.”

To both Marinette’s surprise and Alya’s, Marinette laughs. The thought of having someone to confide in, even if that person is a reporter itching to post the world’s biggest scoop, is strangely comforting.

Alya leaves after that, and Marinette watches her go with a lump in her throat. The interruption Alya had provided suddenly spurs Marinette to remember something important. She remembers that she can _do this_. Her mother always says her tenacity is one of Marinette’s most appealing qualities.

No matter what kind of person Prince Adrien is, or what kind of person his lover is or even what his kingdom is like, Marinette isn’t marrying him for his personality or his looks or really, anything to do with him. This is purely for her parents, who, while they may not be her birth parents, had done everything in their power to give her a life filled with love and affection and kindness. For them, she can endure anything, be it scorned lovers throwing wine in her face, or reporters publishing her secrets in magazines or a husband who is uninterested and cold.

She scrunches the material of her skirt between her fingers as she gets to her feet.

She has a wedding to prepare for.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha afternoon off= new chapter! Thanks for the kind responses everyone gave me! Btw if anyone has formatting tips please feel free to help me I feel like an old grandma squinting at this screen.

 

 

**Chapter 2: There's bound to be an interruption**

Marinette’s grandfather is a small but wizened old man. He is not unkind or unpleasant, but Marinette still feels strangely disconnected from him. She feels like she should feel a familial love or fondness towards him, but all she feels is uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with the huge burden he has placed on her shoulders, uncomfortable with the wistful sadness in his eyes as he looks at her and sees someone else, and uncomfortable with the knowledge that he is the only connection she has to her birth parents.

He regards her over his teacup the next morning- she is unable to return home until after the wedding since the wedding is to take place in the Prince’s kingdom, and he has accompanied her to provide her advice and help her keep to the rigorous schedule set out before her.

“Most of the wedding will not be planned by you, but apparently King Gabriel still expects you to attend most of the meetings and to be fairly involved in them.” He tells her. She does not answer, instead choosing to focus on the way the butter seeps into her warmed toast and the way steam rises and curls over the brim of her coffee mug. “You are free to be involved as you see fit, but to avoid any distasteful occurrences, I suggest you attend most of the meetings. It may difficult between your studies, but I assure you it will be worth it.”

Marinette chews on her toast and washes it down with very bitter, unsweetened coffee that burns on the way down before she answers.

“I’m not particularly invested in this marriage.” She admits. “Nor am I interested in running the kingdom- don’t think that I want any part in this. So I will participate as little as humanly possible.”

He chuckles as he sets down his tea cup and leans his chin against thin, wrinkled fingers.

“Unfortunately, my dear, leading a country is not something you can do half-hearted. While I am well aware that your motives for taking up the mantle for ruler are not… _pure_ , do you really want to lead a whole kingdom into ruin just because you are uninterested? If you are doing this for your father, then do it _well_ for him. I, admittedly, do not know him, but I doubt he would want you to spend the rest of your life doing the bare minimum just to pay some medical fees, if he is a decent father. Which he must be if you are willing to sign your life away to save him.” He tells her, and she glances down at her cup, chastised.

“I’m sorry.” She responds. “It’s a lot to take in.”

He nods.

“I am still shaken, myself.” He admits. “You… look so much like her.”

Tears pool in the corner of his eyes as he regards Marinette, and she is forced to look away, uncomfortable with the affection and grief that shines clearly in his eyes.

He shakes his head and the tone of the conversation shifts to the studies she must undertake if she wants to be able to competently rule not one kingdom, but two, thanks to the allegiance her marriage to Prince Adrien will bring about. Her lessons will start up once she is married to Adrien. They will not live in the palace, apparently, since they do not yet rule either of their kingdoms- instead, an acceptably luxurious abode is currently being prepared for them. They will reside there until Marinette’s coronation, where they will then stay in the palace that Marinette’s birth parents once lived, and would live there indefinitely until the day came that it was Adrien’s turn to rule his country. This means that Marinette has only a limited amount of time to learn as much as she can before her coronation, and most of that time will be spent not in her home kingdom, but in Adrien’s.

Marinette is just finishing up breakfast, wiping the last of the crumbs away from her lips, when the call comes. It is an unknown number, but the voice on the other side is surprisingly familiar.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Alya asks, her tone light and mirthful, “How mad are you that I actually published an article about your misery?”

“How did you get this number?” Marinette asks, instead of answering Alya’s question. Alya laughs.

“Girl, you wouldn’t _believe_ the skills I have as a reporter.” She says. “Don’t worry, I only use my powers for good.”

Marinette is unsure how to proceed. Her grandfather looks curious, but does not say anything as Marinette continues her phone call.

“So you actually published an article?” She asks.

“Yes. Sort of. I didn’t publish the _whole_ story.” Alya admits. “Just enough to keep my boss happy. And don’t worry girl, I didn’t share that snap I got of you with the ruined wedding dress- you looked terrible, and no one should further their career by sharing a picture that ugly.”

“Thanks… I guess?” Marinette is still confused as to what Alya’s intentions are, but oddly enough, her phone call is not unwelcome.

“No worries, girl. Anyway, the reason I’m calling is I wanted you to have a heads up.” She says, her tone oddly serious. “I feel bad about throwing you into the deep-end, and couldn’t really sleep last night knowing I did something like that when you’re already so miserable… but a girl’s gotta feed herself, y’know? Anyway, have a read of the article yourself, and you can text me all the verbal abuse you want if you’re upset. If you don’t contact me though, I’m gonna assume that you were alright with it and not feel guilty about any future articles about your love life that I publish.”

With that, Alya hangs up. Marinette is about to explain to her grandfather what the call was about, when they are interrupted by his assistant, Wayzz.

“Master Fu?” He calls, his steps hesitant like he is expecting some sort of unpleasant outburst from the small man before him. “You may want to see this.”

He drops a newspaper onto the table between Marinette and her grandfather, with a bold headline that no doubt spells trouble for Marinette.

++

“Trouble in paradise” reads the headline of the newspaper article that Gabriel slams down in front of Adrien reads. Adrien can just make out the blurry picture of Marinette entering the dress-shop, looking vaguely nauseous and the reporter’s name, someone called Alya Césaire. Anger is not an emotion his father tends to waste his energy on, preferring instead to rely on cold severity and frightening indifference. He is angry now though. Adrien can see it in the livid stillness of his limbs, the restrained exhales of his breath and the ice of his piercing blue stare.

“What is this?” Gabriel asks, his voice soft and trembling on the verge of an explosion. Adrien’s heart thrums with an anxiety. Though he is an adult now, he cannot fully abandon the fear of his father’s anger, and it is with shaking hands that Adrien picks up the newspaper.

The article is simple enough- simply expressing suspicions that the power couple of the year are not as happy as previous articles would have them believe. A secret, anonymous source, claims that the Princess is “miserable” and the Prince is “not what she expected”. Adrien winces at how close this is to the truth, and wonders if there may in fact be a mole amongst the palace staff. Given the limited interactions between he and his future spouse, it certainly limits the amount of people who could have done it. Perhaps Chloe was feeling particularly spiteful and sold him out in some misguided attempt to ruin a marriage he admittedly does not want.

“It’s just meaningless gossip, Father.” Adrien responds, gently settling the newspaper back on his father’s desk. He should have known it was not good news when he received the summons to his father’s study that morning. Summons to his father’s study never bore good news- sadness and misery lurked in the air, as present as the sweet stink of lilies that his father has made no attempt to air out.

“Meaningless gossip?” His father echoes thoughtfully. “Need I remind you, Adrien, that the purpose of this marriage is not merely a union of two states? Our position as rulers of this kingdom is precarious, and we are relying on the popularity this match should provide to protect it.”

Adrien is silent. He is aware of this- is he not signing away his life to protect this seemingly important position? His father is not making the sacrifice- he is. He swallows down the acidic resentment that is sour on his tongue. Gabriel continues speaking.

“I have spoken with Nathalie about this little… mishap. She informed me of the incident that occurred when you first met the Princess,” He says, shooting Adrien a distasteful glare to accentuate his point. Adrien looks away, ashamed. “We have decided that is appropriate for you two to meet up again and patch up whatever… _differences_ you may have. Do not forget that she may still choose to back out of our agreement. You are to be charming and win her over.”

His father’s words are not an option or suggestion- they are definitive orders from a man who is used to ruling and completely unaccustomed to things not going his way. All protests die on Adrien’s tongue and he feels like he’s choking. Chastened, he lowers his gaze and nods feebly. He is dismissed then, and Nathalie awaits him outside the study, thick black planner in hand.

“I have booked the two of you into a restaurant and have communicated with her grandfather. Your schedule for lunch tomorrow is cancelled and you are to spend that time with her.” She pauses, peering at him over her spectacles. The look could almost be interpreted as sympathy, if Nathalie weren’t a soulless robot who existed purely to execute his father’s wishes. “This will perhaps be your only chance to communicate with the Princess unsupervised- I would make the most of the opportunity and begin to reach a compromise for when you eventually live together.”

Perhaps she means the words to be helpful, kind even. What they do instead is make Adrien feel like his tongue has swollen and his heart is being painfully squeezed in his chest. He is to live with Marinette- she will be his wife, not just contractually. They will be forced to live together, to attend social gatherings together, and perhaps even parent a child together. He remembers his epiphany at the dress-fitting, the one that Chloe had astutely pointed at him- to enter into a marriage without love is perhaps the most miserable and lonely thing he can do. He hates the feeling- he is being spoilt and entitled, he knows. His life was never his own, and would never be his own. From the moment he was born, his life belonged to his kingdom. And this means marrying Marinette. If it were merely a matter of preserving his position as ruler, perhaps he would have backed out sooner, but Adrien knows that the people who are voicing discontent are not concerned for the sake of the kingdom. They are greedy wolves, circling in a pack, eager to take his place and rule, not for the sake of the kingdom, but for their own gain. The ones pushing for a change in ruling are the politicians, the upper class- those who would be able to step in and be elected to lead should their kingship dissolve. It is not just the desire to keep the greedy and ambitious off the throne that makes this marriage necessary, however- it is also the strength an allegiance to a kingdom a fortunate and well-resourced as Marinette’s could only be good for his people.

Still, those reasons seem weak and crumbly when faced with the reality of what it will take to stay on the throne. Adrien is not ambitious and probably never will be. The niggling question he cannot rid himself of is this: Is he really marrying Marinette for the good of the people? Or is this match just something to keep his father in power? His father is not unlike those eying the throne. The only difference is that he was once a powerful and well-respected leader. With his beloved Queen by his side, he had ruled justly and fairly. Now he is selling his son to preserve his position.

These doubts are enough to force Adrien a decision- while he will not and cannot call off the wedding, as his father reminded him earlier, Marinette can. He will rest the decision on her shoulders- if she will not marry him, then perhaps he is free.

He is preoccupied with other duties for the rest of the day, but thoughts of his meeting with Marinette are ever present in the back of his mind, like storm clouds hovering on the horizon. The next day dawns bright and sunny, in stark contrast to his mood. He is a mess of trembling nerves and stress. His hands shake as he dons a simple button-up shirt tucked into pants. He forgoes a tie, opting for a more casual look- his hands shake too much for him to tie it anyway, and he forgoes breakfast as well since the roiling nausea and tension locks up his abdomen and leaves him without appetite. Nathalie has booked them into a private function room at the back of a one of the best restaurants in the country. He wonders if the exorbitant prices will bother Marinette or impress her. Is she the kind of person who enjoys it when wealth is flaunted obviously and thoughtlessly? Or will her humble upbringing as a baker’s daughter forced into a role that will probably never truly fit leave her distasteful and unable to eat?

Perhaps she is as nervous as he is, he reasons as he reaches for his jacket. They do not have the limo prepared for him since this is a lowkey outing they are hoping not to attract attention towards. He still does not get to drive himself- instead a chauffeur awaits him beside a gleaming black sedan. His chauffeur smiles warmly at him through the rear-view mirror as Adrien slides onto the leather seats. Traffic is light at this time of day and they smoothly glide through his kingdom. Adrien idly watches the buildings zip by- this section of his kingdom is sleek and modern, and is probably the only area of the kingdom he has been permitted to frequent on his own. He wonders what other areas of his kingdom might hold if he were to explore them.

The restaurant is elegant- Adrien vaguely remembers visiting on occasion with Chloe. He even recalls having to pick her up from here following a disastrous date. He enters the lobby to find a receptionist smiling sweetly at him. He does not need to introduce himself- she ushers him straight through, leading him across the plush carpet and past tables dressed in pure white clothes. The windows are large and showcase the full rose garden at the back of the building. She leads him through some glass doors along a crunchy pebbled path to a sheltered gazebo where Marinette is already waiting. The sun catches the hedges that fringe the edge of the gazebo, making the fat blooms more vivid, and Marinette is peacefully nestled at the table, examining the menu with a rigour that is probably unnecessary. He might have thought she was casually waiting for a date, in her pretty dress and her carefully curled hair, were it not for the way her fingers grip so tightly at the menu that her knuckles are white, and the way she taps the toes of her high heels at a nervous, incessant rhythm.

“Hello.” He greets awkwardly, sliding into the seat opposite her. She glances up in surprise, before bowing her head in acknowledgement and setting down the menu with awkward, hesitant movements.

“Hello.” She responds, and the face she pulls is probably meant to be an attempted smile, but it looks more like she is resisting the urge to empty the breakfast she probably did manage to eat, the one the Adrien is beginning to be aware of its absence in his stomach. His stomach gurgles at his acknowledgement of his skipped meal, loudly, and he flushes.

“Shall we eat, then?” He asks. He has been here frequently enough that he knows what his favourite dish here is, and so he does not check the menu. Marinette nods, glancing around the garden and tapping her fingers idly. She makes no move to strike up a conversation though, and it becomes clear that Adrien is probably the one who will have to take the lead on this ‘bonding’ session. He is used to having to force the conversation and appearing charming and nice, but usually not to his future wife. He hopes that once they are married, that conversation will flow a little easier.

“So, I guess the point of this meeting is to learn more about each other, so… tell me about yourself?” He asks, aware that he could probably cut the awkward tension hovering in the air with a knife. Marinette fidgets with the edge of her napkin as she deliberates.

“Well…” She says slowly, looking anywhere but him. He realizes that she has not made eye contact once since he sat down. Instead she seems to find the garden interesting, or the table cloth, or the half filled wine glass before her. “My name is Marinette.” She finally says, and he bites back a smile.

“I’ve heard.” He responds. She laughs, and the sound is trembling with nervousness, and oddly endearing. “Is there anything else I should know? Other than things I can learn by checking any newspaper or magazine issue for the past few months?”

Marinette pauses to deliberate, and something like a smile almost curves the corners of her lips.

“I don’t know… those articles have covered most things.” She admits. “Everything from my favourite colour to what I had for breakfast this morning. Which was toast and some expensive coffee that I can’t remember the name of, if that helps you feel like you know me any better.”

Adrien smiles, and their conversation is interrupted by the waitress then. When she wanders off with their orders in hand, the time for conversation returns.

“Well,” he says, resting his hands on the table and making an attempt to meet Marinette’s gaze. For the first time that afternoon, she relents, and the way her large blue eyes connect with his unwaveringly makes him fumble his next words. “We’re getting married.”

Marinette breaks eye contact to nod, and returns to her careful avoidance of his gaze. Perhaps it is the summery lighting, but her cheeks seem slightly rosier.

“We are.” She responds. Adrien is frustrated- they had almost broken through the awkward tension hovering in the air and had something that vaguely resembled a comfortable conversation, but with the interruption the waitress provided, they are back to square one. It hinders his plan- the topic he intends to bring up is not an easy one, and he had been hoping for an easy enough flow of conversation to bring it up.

“Thoughts?” He asks her, as the waitress appears and sets their dishes before them. Marinette stirs around a forkful of fettuccine and he begins to cut into his steak.

“Can I be honest?” She asks, spearing a mushroom with her fork. She glances up and meets his gaze, in the same, unwavering way that she did before. Her gaze is not unfriendly or piercing, but it still makes Adrien feel a strange heat beneath his skin, a sensation that wasn’t quite nerves but also wasn’t quite attraction. Just… awareness. He is painfully aware that he has no idea what she is seeing through that steady, fixed gaze. He attempts a smile and gestures towards her.

“Please. I’d love some honesty.” He says. He almost slaps himself- that wasn’t what he intended to say. She seems to appreciate it though, because she smiles, something a tad warmer and more comfortable than the almost smile she had sent him before. It lights up her face, and he likes that she is so expressive.

“I’m not looking forward to it.” She admits. “I… It feels strange to me. That we’re getting married.”

He nods his agreement.

“Me too. I always knew that my marriage would be arranged, but I never thought it would actually arrive.” He admits in a rushed exhale. Marinette looks surprised, and he offers her a sheepish grin. He sees his opening then. “Which is why I have a proposition.”

Curious, Marinette pauses with a mouthful of fettucine, and tilts her head to examine his expression. He keeps his face open, wondering if she is picking up on the way that he tries to convey that he means no negativity by what he is about to suggest.

“We don’t… _have_ to get married.” He says. Her eyes widen, and her grip loosens on her fork. It clatters against her plate with a loud sound that startles them both. He quickly backpedals. “What I mean is… if you were uncomfortable with this, or you didn’t want to, I would help you. Don’t feel like you can’t get out of this.”

To his surprise, fear flashes across Marinette’s face, and her eyes go wide with distress. Her hand, resting idly on the table, clenches so tightly that the colour leaches from her knuckles. Something hardens in her gaze, though he can’t quite process what causes the change.

“No.” She says fiercely, almost aggressively. He is surprised at her tone, and can’t keep from gaping at her. She seems to realise what tone she had used, because she backtracks. “I just mean… If I don’t marry you, I can’t be the princess.”

Adrien is speechless. He had not realised that Marinette was harbouring such ambition. She is so small and sweet-faced, and the concept of her being ambitious is just so ludicrous to him that he is struck with the realisation that he does not know the whole story about her.

“I wasn’t aware you desired the crown so strongly.” He says slowly, and she drops her gaze, staring at her fettucine with an intensity that may set it ablaze.

“Yes well… there is a lot we don’t know about each other.” She says, her voice tired and strained. Adrien chews his lip. Well that is that- he is to marry Marinette. His last escape plan is foiled with her refusal to call off the match. Not that it had been a strong plan in the first place, he had just hoped that maybe there would be one last chance out of it. Though he is disappointed, he is not as devastated as he thought he would be. He just feels quietly resigned to his fate. Marinette is kind enough, and he supposes it could be worse. He could be marrying someone like Chloe.

“Well, with that sorted, I suppose we should try and get to know each other better?” He suggests lightly, raising a forkful of steak to his mouth.

“How do you suggest we do that?” Marinette asks. Adrien swallows, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper.

“I thought of some questions we could answer.” He informs her. “You know, all the important stuff you need to know to make a marriage work.”

Marinette scans the list, and the look she gives him is equal parts amused and distrustful, like she doesn’t know what to make of him.

“I wasn’t aware ‘favourite jellybean colour’ was vital to the health of a marriage?” She asks. He grins and nods sagely.

“It’s important. What if our favourite jellybean colours are the same? We’ll be destined to spend the rest of our married lives fighting over who gets the jellybeans!” He responds. Marinette snorts, and then claps her hands over her mouth, eyes wide like she hadn’t intended to laugh. She coughs to cover it, and straightens, smooth the crumpled paper before her.

“Ok, I’ll bite.” She says. “I like the blue ones.”

Adrien nods.

“That’s good- I like the red ones.” He says with a smile. She bites her lip, holding back a smile. She leans forward eagerly, her eyes sparkling with a lightness that hadn’t been present before and Adrien knows that he has successfully broken the ice between them. The conversation flows easily from there, as they cover the questions on his list- from things as trivial as their favourite colour to serious things like whether they are cat or dog people. He is personally offended when she admits she prefers dogs- he’s always been more of a cat person. It almost feels like they are on a date and not a meeting designed for them to smooth things out before they get married.  Eventually the conversation does drift to their impending nuptials, however.

“I’ve arranged for us to have separate wings in the mansion.” He informs her. “I figured you wouldn’t be comfortable sharing a bed with a stranger.” He says with an embarrassed cough, hoping she doesn’t notice how red the tips of his ears go when he says the words. She ducks her head, but not before he catches a glimpse of the embarrassed red glow on her cheeks that he no doubt mirrors.

“Thank you.” She says, before glancing up. “Can I ask you something?”

The waitress comes to collect their empty plates as Adrien awaits her question.

“Why are you marrying me? I have my reasons, but surely you had your pick of all the women in the world?” She questions. Adrien takes a long sip of water before he answers.

“Not really.” He admits. “You may have heard, but there have been some people pushing for this kingdom to no longer be a monarchy. They want me and my father off the throne, and my father has decided the best way to win back the votes is to marry someone with enough power and influence to win over the people. That happens to be you.”

Marinette nods, glancing down at where her fingers are knotted against the edge of the table.

“I see.” She says slowly. She looks up then, and smiles. “Well, I have another appointment to attend to, so we’ll have to call our meeting to a close.”

She stands, and he stands as well.

“I’ll walk you to your car.” He says quickly. She smiles and bows her head in thanks. He falls in step beside her and the easy, friendly conversation has him in such an optimistic mood that of course something has to ruin it.

Adrien has not seen Lila in at least a year, not since his father forbade him from ever seeing her again after the disastrous set of events that she caused. Had she given him a year’s warning that he would see her again, it would have not been enough time to prepare himself for such an encounter, and the fact that she shows up without warning _in front of Marinette_ completely floors him. She is more sharp-faced and gaunt than he remembers. She eyes Adrien with an expression that he cannot describe- perhaps heartbreak, perhaps hopefulness. It makes his chest ache, whatever the expression is, and his words desert him.

“Adrien?” Lila says. He is vaguely aware of Marinette stiffening beside him, her gaze flicking between him and Lila. Perhaps she is wondering who Lila is and why Adrien is so shocked to see her.

“Lila.” He responds, and it comes out as a sort of choked gasp. “W-what are you doing here?” He curses himself for stuttering. She meets his gaze, something sad and trembling clear in the depths of her gaze.

“I heard that you would be here and I…” Her gaze flickers to Marinette and he does not miss the venom that fills them when she registers his fiancée’s audience to their conversation. “I was hoping we could talk in private.”

Adrien opens his mouth to protest- while he and Lila may have been friends in the past, he has no wish to be alone with her now. Marinette, however, seems to deflate beside him.

“My driver is waiting Adrien. I’ll see you again, I suppose.” Before leaving, she pauses and gazes at him, her gaze searching. Adrien is not sure what she is searching for, but her eyes are stormy and the warmth that he had managed to coax into them has all but vanished. She scans his face, and he is still, before finally she looks away, her expression confused and perhaps a little troubled. Before he can say anything to her, however, she darts away. He wants to call her back, but something causes him to hesitate. It costs him- she is gone. This leaves him alone with Lila, who is watching Marinette leave without any attempt to hide her distaste.

When she turns back to him, however, her expression warms and the corners of her mouth lift in a smile.

“It’s been a while.” She says, and he nods.

“Why are you here, Lila?” He says, uninterested in any small talk. Hurt flashes in her eyes and he briefly regrets his brusqueness. She lowers her gaze and inhales slowly.

“I heard you were engaged and I had to see you.” She says, raising her eyes up. It is more likely that she heard there was _trouble_ with his engagement and decided to come, considering the timing, but Adrien does not voice this deduction aloud.  Instead, he rubs his fingers together, aware of his palms slickening with sweat and his heart beginning to tremor with the nerves that such an uncomfortable encounter is bound to bring.

“Lila, you know that you can’t be here.” He says slowly. “I think I’ve made it clear many times before that I-“

She cuts him off. Her eyes are bright with a desperation he has never seen before, and he is surprised at the intensity of her gaze after such a long period of radio silence from her. He was a fool to think that he had ended things between them cleanly, considering that she is here.

“Don’t marry her. Please.” She begs. “I know that you didn’t love me, back then, but I also know that you don’t love her, so please. Give me some time- give me a _chance_. We could run away together or something!”

“You know I can’t, Lila,” He begins. “My father-“

“Please, Adrien,” She continues. “What does she have that I don’t? It’s not like you love her, or anything!”

Adrien feels like she’s punched him in the gut and his next words are choked.

“You know it’s not like that, Lila,” He tries to start. No matter what history they have, and whatever awful things Lila has done in the past, she is still one of his oldest friends aside from Chloe. He does not like to see her in pain, and it frustrates him that he is the cause of that pain. “But even if I had ever felt that way towards you, you know that we couldn’t be together. I have never and never will be free to marry anyone but who my father deems appropriate.”

Lila’s eyes began to water then, and Adrien’s heart aches for her.

“I do love you Lila- as a friend. Only as a friend. Even in spite of everything you’ve done. I’m so sorry… but that’s the only way I’ve ever felt towards you, and while I’ve only ever wanted to make you happy, I can’t just abandon my father, or my kingdom, or my position. I have to respect that.” Adrien says, trying to keep his tone firm, but he can’t keep the wobble from his tone, particularly when the tears begin to spill forth from Lila’s face. A commotion breaks out behind him- his security guard has finally picked up on Lila’s presence and is probably preparing to drag her out. She glances behind him and steels her expression.

“I’ll go now. But don’t think this is the end Adrien- I won’t give up on you that easily!” She declares as she turns and strides away just in time for his security guard to appear beside him. He apologises and bows to Adrien but Adrien barely registers his presence, simply watching the door swing shut behind Lila with a tight throat.

“You have to.” He says softly.

She doesn’t hear him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably say something about some sort of update schedule... I have about 2 more chapters prewritten and this story is aiming to be about 10 chapters (though that may become one more or one less depending on how well some scenes fit together) so until I run out of chapters (aka in two weeks ahaha) I shall post weekly. See y'all next Tuesday :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a pretty fun chapter to write, so I hope y'all have as much fun reading it as I did writing it

  **Chapter 3: There's bound to be a wedding**

 

* * *

  
The day of the royal wedding dawns grey and misty, with the promise of rain foretold in the swollen clouds that hover heavy over the capital city. Reporters that gather in and around the venue are armed with umbrellas and plastic tarpaulins to protect their equipment should it actually rain. A few hopeful civillians gather at the borders marked by thick velvet ropes designed to prevent public access, hoping to catch a glimpse of the princess of the prince.

 

Marinette is awoken at a ludicrously early hour by one of the stylists hired to make her look like the princess she supposedly is. Apparently the princess look is a high maintenance one- from the moment she wakes they are scrubbing and plucking at her, shaping her eyebrows, removing dead skin, trying to bring some sort of healthy glow to skin that has long gone pale and translucent from neglect and misery. She supposed she can’t complain- a full makeover like this would have been wickedly out of her budget in the past, but here she is. She can picture her friend Rose back home dying of jealousy. She had always complained that Marinette was neglecting her appearance once her father had gotten sick. Marinette had been too embarrassed to admit that it wasn’t willful neglect- their budget just simply could not handle that. 

 

“No frowning please.” Her stylist scolds, and Marinette smoothes out her face as they continue to contour her face.

 

Wayzz reads out everything she needs to know- her grandfather has vanished on some mysterious errand that he had remained obstinately tight-lipped on in the days leading up to her wedding. 

 

It had been nearly a month since her last meeting with Adrien. She has not seen him since the meeting where they were supposed to patch things up. Marinette remembers walking out of that restaurant feeling more bitter than before- the revelation that there was yet another woman with some sort of history with Adrien is an unpleasant one. It makes her wonder just how many women are being jaded by this marriage. Not that she has any right to be upset- just as she is entering into this marriage to pay her father’s hospital bills with no love in the equation, he too has reasons to marry her and she cannot blame him if he has a few women on the side. The only thing tying him to her are some legal documents. Still, it just highlights to Marinette just what this marriage is, and just when she had been thinking that maybe Adrien wasn’t so bad, it all came crashing down when that woman had showed up.

 

She feels vaguely nauseous as another stylist begins working with her hair. The last month of planning and studying and preparing to move out of her childhood home had gone by far too quick. Marinette has tried to deny to herself for as long as possible that she was entering into a lifelong commitment with a whole kingdom, and a more intimate commitment with a complete stranger. They would be living together. Yes, he had been kind enough to ensure they had separate wings, and she had since seen the mansion and realised it would be very easy to avoid his presence should she desire it. But she couldn’t spend the rest of her life avoiding her soon-to-be husband. Unless she wanted to live the rest of her life living like a terrified stranger in a home that was supposed to be hers. Not only was it impractical, it was legally impossible- she had read the clause on the need to eventually provide an heir, after all. 

 

She tries to tide the roiling nausea by remembering her family. Her parents are why she is doing this. They had cried when she had left- she had not confided in them that she was agreeing to all this responsibility to allow her father to get treated. Dialysis was expensive. She had instead pretended that she was taking up a mantle that was hers by birthright, and her parents had been upsettingly supportive. Like they genuinely believed that adopting her had stripped her of some sort of birthright. They had been unsure when they learned that taking her place as ruler meant marrying someone she didn’t know, but perhaps guilt had kept them silent.

 

She misses them. Even though she is still reeling from learning they are not her birth parents, she cannot forget that they had showered her with endless love and affection for all her life. Closing her eyes as the person working on her hair begins to massage shampoo into her scalp, she feels her nerves settle the more she thinks of her parents. Despite all the stress as unease that had crept into her life as of late, from the day they received the blood test results that told them her father was going to be very sick for a very long time, her memories of her childhood glimmer like a shining beacon of hope. Those are what she is fighting for- her mother’s smile as Marinette ran screaming through the house in an intense game of hide and seek with her father, the smell of vanilla and baking cakes thick in the air, the sticky sensation of sugar clinging to her fingers and palms as she sat on the counter of the bakery while she helped her parents dedicate wedding cakes and pastries and delicacies, the memories filter through her mind and fill her chest with a pleasant stretching sensation, like her heart is too full to contain the warmth and love. The memory of decorating wedding cakes and lamenting over her lack of popularity with boys with her mother stands out to her in particular and makes her smile at the irony that today is her wedding day. The day she had worried would never come is right here.

 

“Done!” The stylist declares, allowing one last curl to fall through her fingers and bounce gently against Marinette’s neck.

 

Marinette does not look at herself in the mirror until the stylists have helped her climb into the piles of lace that comprise her dress and have zipped her into it. She is secured into her dress much like she is now secured in her fate.

 

A full length mirror stands before her, and Marinette regards herself. She knows the media have been raving about her sweetness and kindness, and that is the angle her stylists have chosen to emphasize. Someone clever had managed to make her eyes seem large and innocent, like two priceless sapphires set in a ring of dark, thick lashes, and softened the colour of her cheeks to a pleasing, rosy pink. Her lips too, are painted in a soft, sweet pink. Everything, from the cloudy, fluttery white dress that falls in lacy waves around her, to the delicate curls that frame her face, to the makeup they had caked her face in is sweet. Sickeningly sweet and innocent.

 

Marinette inhales shakily as yet another stylist bustles in, arms laden with the lace of her veil, prepared to set it in place on the intricate hairstyle curled and pinned carefully in place amongst the expensive jewels that are weaved into place. Peering through her fringe, she is struck by how she looks. There had been a time where Marinette had put similar effort into her appearance to always look pristine, but just like contact with friends like Rose had vanished after her father got sick, so did any attempts to take care of herself. Underneath the makeup piled on to make her look like the angelic princess that everyone had been raving about, she is skinny and pale. Her collarbones are sharper than she has ever seen, and her cheeks have lost the soft roundness that she once held.

 

Marinette suddenly feels heavy with exhaustion, like a weight has suddenly crashed down on her. Her reflection deflates, and it is that exact moment that her grandfather chooses to enter the room.

He smiles warmly when he sees her, and his eyes go watery in that expression he always wears when he is thinking about her birth parents. Equally joyful and wistful, like he is looking at the granddaughter he had held fondly as a small, helpless baby, but also like she is a reminder of everything he has lost in recent months.

 

“You look gorgeous.” He comments, with a smile that makes Marinette’s chest ache, because it is a happy smile but it is also tainted with a grief that she cannot begin to imagine.

 

“Thank you.” She says with an awkward smile. She does feel compassion towards her grandfather, even if he feels like a stranger to her. He had loved her as deeply as her adopted parents do, once, and perhaps still loves her just as deeply.

 

He blinks, and seems to remember himself, because he clears his throat and reaches his pocket.

 

“I am sorry for my absence over the past few days.” He begins, producing a small silk pouch. Marinette listens patiently, curious about the contents. “I know that you would have perhaps wanted a familiar face prior to your wedding, but I have a very important duty to run.”

 

He grabs one of her hands and tugs it towards him, carefully placing the pouch in her hands.

 

“I knew you were upset that your adopted parents could not attend. I did try my best, but unfortunately I am not of royal blood- I am a mere advisor and my influence and sway is not that much. So instead I thought I would visit them and see if they had anything to say to you that I could pass on.” He explains. “They gave me this.”

 

Carefully, Marinette allows whatever is contained in the pouch to slip free and land in the palm of her hand. It is a ring, one that Marinette knows with an achingly familiarity that slices through her with something sharp and painful. It is slightly scratched, and slightly weathered, way too big for her fingers. She knows the ring as well as she knows the wrinkles that gather around the corner of her mother’s eyes- when she was small and had held her father’s hand it had been cool against the palm of her hand as he wore it. It had been constantly present on his finger as he rolled and kneaded dough, until he had accidently baked it into a cake and then he had been forced to remove it and keep it safe for fear of losing it. Marinette swallows thickly and blinks rapidly, aware that the tears that sting her eyes will ruin her makeup. She inhales deeply, looking up and willing the tears to dissipate.

 

Perhaps Master Fu must be aware of its significance, because he wordlessly pulls out a shimmering and expensive gold chain, and she accepts it and slips it through the ring. She clips it behind her neck before turning to face the mirror. Her dress sits just beneath her shoulders and leaves her neck and collar bones exposed, and the ring sits against her sternum. It feels like it heavy weight digging into her chest.

 

“They told me to tell you this: That they are overjoyed to see their precious daughter get married, and that they want you to carry that reminder of their love for each other and for you with you as you enter the next chapter of your life.” He clears his throat, and his eyes are foggy with unshed tears. “If I had known earlier, I would have helped them get the ring sized so that you can wear it as your own wedding ring, but unfortunately I only found out about this yesterday.” He admits.

 

Marinette traces her fingers around the shape of her father’s wedding ring and she feels like the chain is choking her. She pictures her father, holding back tears as he passes the ring to her grandfather, and her mother, dry-eyed since she has already cried so much over the past few months, trying to hide the ache of farewell-ing her daughter with a friendly smile that mixes heartwrenchingly with the pain that is no doubt shining in her eyes.

 

Once, when Marinette had been small, her dad had talked about how he longed to walk her down the aisle. His health had never been excellent, and while he wasn’t at the advanced stages that he currently is back then, she knew that he could never dispel the lingering doubt that he wouldn’t see his daughter married and happy. And now he is not even permitted to attend her wedding. He will watch it on the tv, like the rest of the nation, probably sitting on his hospital bed while it happens, surrounded by the stinging scent of disinfectant while the whirs of a dialysis machine reminds him of his limited time remaining on this earth.

 

Marinette swallows deeply to keep back anything close to a sob and manages to stave off the tears that are desperate to fall as Master Fu leaves to give her some privacy. Her heart stings with agony, as she crumples to the ground. She had lived in denial up until now, busying herself with tasks that had taken up all her attention to distract herself from the reality she lives in. Will her mother cry while she watches her daughter marry through a tiny, pixelated screen? Will her father feel wistful and regretful that he could not fulfil his dream of seeing her down the aisle? Will they feel guilty at never telling her that she was not biologically theirs? Would they think that this was her way of abandoning them after carrying such a huge lie throughout her life?

 

Her parents are not here to walk her down the aisle, and in spite of all the painful and scary revelations of the past few months, all the uncertainty, all the loneliness, all the fear, this is perhaps what hits her the hardest, like a wrecking ball shattering her ribcage and leaving her heart open and vulnerable and painful. She does not even think as she flees from the room, and races down the corridor in stilettos that are far too high to be running in, especially with such a full skirt. She must look like quite the sight, dressed in the most expensive dress in the world while sprinting down the lavish corridors of the expensive cathedral that only royalty are permitted to marry in. She is not sure of where she is going, just sure that she somehow has to get out of this.

 

Her instinct has always been to go up, when she is stressed. She lived on the top floor of her house, in a small unit over the bakery, and so accessing the roof to admire the streets of the city she was raised in was easy. It became a ritual for her- when high school proved too difficult, when children at school avoided her or made fun of her, when she had a fight with her parents or with Rose, she would always climb up onto the roof of the bakery and try and make out the stars while seated against the roofing shingle. Of course, the stars were barely visible through the bright lights and pollution of a large city, but the brightest ones were still visible, and those were the ones she would fixate on. High up, in the sky, with her problems down below and the air free and open, that was where she would find solace. Her escape. That is why she feels a wave of relief when she reaches the open air of the roof of the cathedral.

 

The roof of the Royal Cathedral has one of the most famous gardens in the entire kingdom. As Marinette glances around, she can see why. Even in the dimness of a miserable, cloudy gray sky, brilliant blooms hang on hedges, the air thick with their sweet scent, intensified by the oncoming Spring rain. A charming path carves its way between well-trimmed rose bushes, lined with gravel that crunches and grits and leaves her unsteady in her stilettos as she wonders through the garden.

 

Belatedly, the stupidity of her actions occurs to Marinette- she has no where to go up here, no where to flee, even if she knows in her heart of hearts that she cannot flee. Still, she feels like someone has a stranglehold on her heart, and she cannot bite back the pain in her chest that nears physical agony. She cannot shake the image of her father watching the ceremony with tears in his warm eyes. Her dad never cried, and the rare occasions that he did always stopped her in whatever she was doing.  

 

There’s nothing better to fix your problems than a good cry, and Marinette decides that now is as good a time as ever to utilise that technique. Dropping to a squat and hugging her knees to her chest, her lacy skirt billows around her with the weightlessness of a cloud, she finally lets the tears fall. It is so lonely and painful surrounded by nothing but the cloudy gray sky and the heavy scent of the rose garden. She lets her sobs climb in volume and desperation. The stress of the passed few months has been far too much, and each inhale comes with a stab of pain through her ribcage, like someone is twisting a knife into her diaphragm.

 

It is that moment, alone and miserable and desperate, that the world decides to give her one final kick in the gut. The clouds above her roar with thunder and the rain that has been hovering in the air all day like a dull threat spills forth. Humiliated, Marinette glances up, feeling icy drops glance off her cheeks and soak into the lace of her dress. The interruption is sufficient to stop her tears, but she does not know how long she numbly sits there, icy rain sinking into her skin and clinging to her lashes.

 

The edges of a large black umbrella eventually obscures her vision, and she starts more at the brief reprieve from the rain and the dry jacket that drops clumsily on her shoulders than its appearance. When she lowers her gaze, careful green eyes regard her. Adrien does not say anything, merely holding the umbrella aloft over her head- the rain lashes at his back and turns his white dress shirt translucent, but he makes no move to remedy the situation. He just stares with a mild mixture of sympathy and concern until Marinette’s curiosity can bear it no longer.

 

“How did you find me?” Her voice is slightly raw- a good cry will always leave one’s throat slightly scratchy. He smiles, a gentle upturn to his lips and a warmth that hovers behind intense green irises, and the site warms the numbness in Marinette’s chest just slightly.

 

“Well it wasn’t hard to realise you’d run off.” He admitted, dropping to a squat before her so that he was eye level. At this level, the umbrella shields them both. “Your poor stylist was already packing her things and preparing her resignation letter. And as to how I found you… well I remembered that you mentioned you liked high places during our little Q and A session when we went to lunch together.”

 

A warm surprise seals her lips shut- that he remembered such a small and insignificant detail from a meeting that was nearly a month ago was… oddly touching. Soothing, even. She just stares at him mutely. He straightens, adjusting his now damp pants and offers a hand to her, palm facing upwards. Hesitantly, she slides her hand into his. She notes that his hands are large and wrap almost completely around hers, and he tugs her to her feet. She stumbles in her stilettos slightly and finds herself standing far closer to him than intended, a hand landing on his shoulder to stabilise herself. She is completely dwarfed by him for a moment before she frantically tries to pull away, embarrassed. He does not allow her, however, and holds her in place with a firm hand pinning hers to its position against his shoulder.

 

“Marinette.” He says, softly, sweetly, but also firmly. “You don’t _have_ to do this.”

  
She goes to tug her hand away, already well-aware that she actually _did_ have to do this, but his next words surprise her.

 

“But I’d really like it if you did. For me, but also for whatever reason that makes you want the crown.” He says earnestly. “We may not be in love, and there may be far more ultimatums in this marriage than there should ever be… but we can do it. If you go through with this… we’ll manage. Together.”

 

Marinette finds her mouth glued shut and is struck with a sensation that is rather like a mouthful of cotton, at Adrien’s words. A part of her screams at her not to trust his words- he has already proven he has multiple lovers and a potentially messy past and trusting him feels too much like giving in to all the injustice of her situation, but then a louder part of her forces out the next words before she has prepared herself to share them.

 

“My father couldn’t be here.” She admits suddenly. “My adoptive father… He couldn’t be here to walk me down the aisle. My grandfather will instead, and even though he’s been nothing but lovely, he’s still…”

 

_A stranger_ , are the words that hover unspoken in her lips. She is not sure why she confides this in Adrien, but understanding dawns in Adrien’s expression. Something in his tense green eyes softens.

 

“I’m so sorry Marinette.” He says. He glances at his watch, before glancing at her. “We have two hours until the ceremony- if we rush back now, you can get your makeup retouched and your dress dried off just in time. We’ll have to cancel the pre-ceremony photoshoot, but at least the day will still go ahead as planned.”

 

Marinette hesitates just long enough for him to twist his hands and grip her hand gently in his.

 

“Thank you for sharing.” He says quickly, “I would have run away too if I were in your situation. I still want to run away… but instead I’m going to do something potentially stupid.”

 

When she makes no attempt to stop him, he continues.

 

“I promise you, Marinette, that even though its scary and its lonely and walking down that aisle is daunting, that I will be there for you. As a friend, as a husband, whatever you need me to be. I promise you that if your family can’t be here, then I’ll be your family. After today we’ll be husband and wife, and even if I don’t… _love you_ , I will be your husband to the best of my ability.” He grins, his face an odd mixture of encouraging but hesitant, and laces his fingers through hers. “So let’s do this, ok Princess?”

 

Marinette can’t seem to find the words to say in that moment, so she opts for squeezing his hand slightly, and allowing her to tug her back undercover, into the shelter of the cathedral.

++

Marinette gets married in a damp wedding dress and hastily done up makeup. Her stylist is livid at her mistreatment of her carefully crafted hair and makeup and expensive dress, and keeps making snide remarks about having to cover up her red eyes. She is a skilled stylist, though, and in half the time it took the team that morning, she has Marinette looking the part of a beautiful bride once more. Maybe not the wide-eyed, beautiful princess she was this morning, but definitely still a glowing bride.

 

Master Fu thankfully says nothing as she stands behind the lavish double doors that mark the entrance to the cathedral. She can just hear the silky strains of the beginning of Pachelbel’s canon filtering through the door and her heart begins to throb somewhere at the base of her throat.

 

She swallows past the sudden dryness in her throat as the doors swing open. The camera flashes, the curious gazes, the music, it all hits her in a chaotic whirl as she is aware of the light pressure from her grandfather on her forearm. He gently guides her forward, and she tries to focus her mind on not wobbling in her stilettos, and not the man waiting at the other end of the aisle with an unreadable expression in his warm, green eyes.

 

She somehow manages to make it down the aisle without tripping or making a fool of herself by emptying the contents of the meagre breakfast she had managed to squeeze in between stylist assaulting her face with brushes and powder and goodness knows what else. She pauses just before the alter when she feels her grandfather lightly tug on her arm. She pauses and turns to him, to find him smiling. There is an odd sadness to his eyes, the contrasts the warm tug of the corners of his lips, and he seems to try and convey a message to Marinette in the way that he slowly unravels his spindly fingers from her arm.

 

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs as he relinquishes his hold on her and turns away. He offers no other explanation, no context, and it is almost like the exchange doesn’t happen at all, but Marinette knows instantly what he means. He’s sorry he couldn’t be there- that he couldn’t watch her grow up, that he couldn’t save her from the heartache of the past year, that he couldn’t save her from her situation or her marriage, and lastly that he was the one walking her down the aisle, instead of the man who raised her.

 

She feels her eyes well up with tears, and is thankful for the veil that conceals the glassy sheen to her eyes from nosy cameras that are found in nearly every pew of the cathedral. Her heart aches, once more with the sensation that her grandfather is kind man, and that she should perhaps love him. But she does not. Still, it is a dulling sensation to know that he blames himself for what has happened to her, and carries that blame in the hunch of his shoulders. Marinette swallows, and squares her shoulders, before turning back to the alter. Adrien had been watching the exchange, and her gaze connects with his with the suddenness of two magnets clicking together. He offers a hesitant smile, but at this proximity, she can read the dread and nerves and unease in his gaze. The feelings he had been trying to suppress all morning, but could no longer hold back now that they were before the alter. The temptation to run is still written into his tense limbs, and he extends a stiff arm towards her. He tries to offset the tension in his body language with his warm smile, but all it does is deepen the unease that she has been feeling. Still, there is a sense of camaraderie in knowing that he is as fearful and reluctant as she is.

 

Adrien is not unfriendly, or unkind, and as he takes her hands in his and turns to face her, the memory of his promise to her on the cathedral rooftop rings loudly in her ears. She barely registers the bishop’s voice as he speaks to the attendees, instead choosing to dwell on Adrien’s words. Though she still doesn’t know whether she can trust them, particularly after being exposed to the numerous, messy relationships he is engaged in, but they still somehow comfort her. Like an anchor in the midst of what has felt surreal and scary. Even if her husband is not perfect, he is kind. And that is what Marinette needs, and has needed, for the past year.

 

Adrien recites his prewritten vows, drained of the warmth and sincerity that had been embedded in his earlier promise, and Marinette abruptly decides that those soulless vows are not what she wants to read to her husband. She does not know him or love him and heavily suspects that she has not seen the end of his troubles with women, but she does not want her wedding vows to be so empty. Not when his words from earlier have warmed her to the core, even as she stand before the alter in a icy, damp wedding dress that. The bishop stares expectantly, awaiting Marinette’s vows.

 

“I, Marinette, take thee, Adrien, to be my husband and my partner.” She pauses. Adrien stares expectantly at her. “Let me make this promise to you. I promise to be your wife, and your friend. To help you when you need it, and to support you when you’re down. I promise to spend every day, for the rest of my life, trying to learn more about you, and understand you.       And lastly I promise you, that no matter who you are, or what obstacles we face ahead of us, I will do everything in my power to be your wife. I won’t run away, or shy away. We’ll face this together. Head on.”

 

Adrien gawks at her, and she feels herself flushing under his dumbstruck gaze. He knows, that her vows were off script, and he looks like he may want to respond to them. Instead, they are interrupted by the bishop, who announces that they may now kiss.

 

This is the moment- from this point on, they will be husband and wife. There is no more fleeing, or escaping, or backing out of it. Marinette feels the weight and pressure of the situation, and cannot stop her hands from trembling in spite of the bravado in her earlier vows. Adrien’s hands shake too, as she slides the simple gold band onto his finger, and his palms are cold and clammy as he does the same for her.

 

Slowly, he lifts the veil from her face, and there are so many emotions in his gaze that he cannot express, not with every eye in the country on them as they publically declare their marriage. So much rests on this- the fate of their kingdom, their crowns… and their own futures. Adrien leans forward awkwardly, and Marinette closes his eyes.

 

His lips are soft and smooth, and the kiss is soft and passing, like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings against her skin.

 

And just like that, it is over, and she and Adrien are married.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See y'all next Tuesday! I think every miraculous writer aspires to write their own version of that iconic umbrella scene, and do it justice. Hopefully you feel like I did it justice, because a lot of thought and effort went into writing it! Anyways, enjoy, don't forget to come hang with me on tumblr, and I'll see you next week :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally a lot longer with a fluffier resolution but it got wayyyy too long so I actually had to split it! Not gonna lie, it was quite difficult to write- there was a lot I wanted to happen and didn't know how to make it happen. I'm excited to post this though, because my favourite chapter ever will be posted next week and this chapter is the prelude to that! Also I had a read through some of my earlier chapters and detected a lot of confusing grammar... I don't really proofread, so sorry about that, haha!

**Chapter 4: There's bound to be some interviews**

 

If Adrien had thought things would go smoothly once he was married, then he was sorely mistaken. It isn’t unpleasant, or anything- Marinette is sweet-natured, from what little he knows of her, does not hold grudges, and makes a monumental effort to stay out of his way. Almost too much of an effort- he hardly sees her at home, between his duties as a royal. He returns home to their estate in the evening, hoping to catch a glance of her at dinner to find she has already retired for the night, and she is usually asleep when he leaves in the mornings. She isn’t a morning person, apparently.

He isn’t disappointed, per se- he wouldn’t have felt so agonized over marrying a total stranger if he hadn’t realised how lonely and falsified it would feel. It’s just that her words at their wedding, the improvised vows, keep echoing in his mind every time he manages to catch a meagre glimpse of his supposed wife. Her promises to be his wife and his support now ring empty and bitter with each passing day that he returns home to an empty dining room and retires to a cold, empty bed in his separate wing of the mansion.

Still, Adrien tries to respect that this is probably what Marinette wants. Though he still does not know why she agreed to marry him, particularly now that she seems to be living as a shadow in her own home, he has to respect her level of comfort with living with a foreign, male stranger. It isn’t like he wants her to throw herself into his arms and declare herself madly in love with her husband. Such a notion would be ridiculous. He just wants a friend. Chloe is still full to the brim with criticism and complaints about his arranged marriage, and his only other close friend, Nino, has been engaged in foreign aid efforts overseas for a considerable amount of time now. He has nothing but duty after duty, meeting after meeting, interview after interview. He just wants Marinette to be his friend. He knows they have the potential to get along- if that lunch while they were still engaged is any indicator (before Lila’s untimely intrusion, of course), but he is too unsure to take steps to reach that point.

He allows their awkward, barely-there interactions to continue for a week. He forces smiles when diplomats cheekily inquire into the status of his new marriage, and he deflects any prying questions from his father. Then their first joint schedule begins to approach, and with an interview coming up where they are expected to expose their (fake) whirlwind romance to all, Adrien thinks its about time he sat down and had dinner with his wife.

She must be thinking the same thing as well because she is waiting for him in the dining room when he returns home from another long meeting that once more devolved into an argument about the legitimacy of the crown. His exhaustion means that the sight of Marinette, pretty in a simple dress and her hair pulled back off her neck in a simple bun, completely floors him. He stares dumbly for a few moments until her cheeks begin to tint pink under the weight of his gaze. She clears her throat awkwardly, and he straightens as his manners return to him in a rush.

“Hello.” He greets awkwardly, with a gentle bow of his head. She mirrors the movement, and offers him a tiny, tentative smile that is difficult not to return.

“Hi.” Is her response, as she gets to her feet, and awkwardly gestures to his place at the table, already set by the waitstaff.

“T-to what do I have the pleasure?” He asks, as he settles in the seat opposite her. He curses himself for stuttering, but she does not seem to notice as she busies herself with heaping food onto his plate for him. He gratefully accepts it and she seats herself once more.

“I thought maybe we should get our stories straight.” She says. “For tomorrow, I mean. So that we sound authentic.”

Adrien is not sure why he feels as disappointed as he does at her words, but it probably has to do with the hope that maybe she just wanted to spend time with him. It stings, a little, to be reminded that their connection is so fabricated. Even as she sits across from him, pretty and sweet and kind, with a ring on her finger that ties her permanently to him, it is all fake. For publicity, for politics, for every reason but the right one.

“Yeah.” He says slowly, through a mouthful a food. “Nathalie sent through some prewritten answers- did you go through those?”

Marinette nods, reaching to her side and producing a stack of A4 sheets. She flips through them, looking distasteful.

“I did… but they’re just so stiff! We might as well just declare in the interview that the king arranged this marriage for us.” She exclaims, gesturing wildly to her notes. Adrien had glanced briefly at them when Nathalie sent them through and hadn’t put much thought into them. He takes them from Marinette’s hands and begins to skim through them. He sees what she means- all the details of their fabricated relationship are there, fake plane tickets, restaurant receipts to show their dates, but the stories are missing any emotion. It lists every place they went on dates, but nothing about what made them keep going on the dates, or what they talked about, or how two complete strangers would have fallen deeply enough to marry within a few short months of meeting one another.

“I see what you mean.” He responds. Marinette nods enthusiastically.

“So I thought we could workshop it a little. We already know a bit about each other, from that last lunch date we had, but we’ve got to figure out what made this fictional relationship tick!” She says passionately, complete with wild hand gestures. Adrien suppresses a fond chuckle at her enthusiasm, and chooses to humour her.

“What do you suggest?” He asks her, feeling the beginnings of a smile curve his lips. She pauses, contemplating.

“I’m not sure… fabricating a relationship is not something you do every day…” She says slowly. “If you could have married for love… what sort of person would you have married?”

He is surprised by the question- he spent so much time lamenting over what he didn’t want in a marriage that he hasn’t actually considered what he wants before.

“A companion, I suppose.” He says, taken aback. “Someone who would be there.”

“A companion?” Marinette echoes, confused and surprised. Adrien smiles and he cannot keep away the note of bitterness that sharpens his expression.

“Someone I could rule alongside… someone who would be there in the hard times… someone who feels like home.” He admits. The words make his throat feel tight- he feels uncomfortably vulnerable and bare, exposing he deepest desires to Marinette. She regards him with unreadable eyes, blue and wide and charming, her feelings inaccessible to him simply because he knows nothing about her.

“That’s… surprising.” She admits. “I thought you’d say something about looks or personality… but that’s such a genuine and heartfelt wish.”

He laughs, but not in an unfriendly way.

“I suppose so- so how does this help us make our story more authentic?” He asks her. She pauses to consider.

“Well, if we’re pretending to be in love, then what you supposedly fell for me for would have to be traits that you look for in a partner. I can’t say I have features appropriate for ruling… but my friends used to tell me I was very supportive.” She bites her lip and glances away. “Or at least they did, before.”

“Before what?” Adrien asks, curious. This is the first hint of her life before her launch to fame she’s given up to him willing that isn’t something superficial like her favourite jellybean colour, and he is quick to latch onto that. She, however, realises her slip and stiffens.

“Nothing. That’s not important.” She says, quickly and dismissively. “Anyway… I think I’ll tell them that I fell for your sense of humour and good looks.” She declares decisively, leaning forward to rest her chin in her hand and regard him across the table. Adrien accidentally inhales a bit of broccoli and it takes a bit of ungraceful coughing and flailing to dislodge it.

“I see.” He says. She looks at him with an expression that may be hope.

“And me?” She asks. “What will you tell them about me?”

Adrien takes the opportunity to take a long sip from his water before setting his glass down carefully. He is not sure why, but he feels his face heat. It feels far to raw and vulnerable to just… decide something about her that made him fall in love with her. Partially because he’s not in love with her and he’s fabricating a lie, partially because she’s not… unappealing as a wife. He feels like she’s asking him to tell her far more than he’s comfortable sharing or acknowledging, even to himself. Not when she is still essentially a stranger to him, and a shadow in their own home.

“I’ll decide by tomorrow.” He says quickly, covering his discomfort with a cough. “I’m good at improvisation.”

Marinette glances down, nodding, and scooping a forkful of food into her mouth. A silence follows, since Marinette has clearly exhausted her list of things to say, and so they just eat in silence.

Both retire to their separate rooms that night after slightly more finetuning of their story, and Adrien falls asleep with a deep, sad ache in his chest, embraced by a cold loneliness he cannot seem to dispel.

++

Nadja practically specializes in the royal family, based on the sheer amount of coverage she does of their lives. Despite her borderline-obsessive coverage of everything he and other royalty did, from what sunglasses Adrien wore when he went out in public the other week to what flavour ice cream Marinette was spotted getting for dessert the other night at a restaurant, she respects their boundaries in a way that most reporters do not. So Adrien is only a little nervous when they finish the photoshoot and sit down to chat.

“So,” She begins, beaming. “First of all I want to thank you for the opportunity! It’s not everyday I get a chance to share a love story like yours with the world.”

Adrien smiles warmly and beside him Marinette inclines her head uncomfortably. She is clinging to his arm nervously, and the gesture might have almost been sweet if he wasn’t sure she was doing it out of pure terror rather than any affection for him. He lightly places a hand over her white-knuckled grip on his arm, and she stiffens slightly, before releasing her bone-crushing grip. She shoots him an apologetic smile that is almost endearing, and he smiles back, hoping to soothe her nerves.

“It’s not a problem at all, Nadja.” Adrien responds. “I couldn’t think of a better person to tell our story to the world.”

Beside him, Adrien’s wife seems to have been replaced with a bobble-head figurine because all she can seem to do it nod mutely. He tugs her hand from its grip on his arm and she reluctantly lets him go. Instead he replaces his arm with his hand, lacing his fingers with her. When she glances at him, confused, he shoots her a glance. He hopes that the reassurance he tries to convey soothes her enough, and he thinks he may be successful, because she overcomes the muteness that has plagued her all morning.

“Where should we start?” She asks. Nadja pauses, considering and scanning through the file she had been given by Nathalie.

“It says here that you two met at the first social event that Marinette attended after discovering her princess roots. According to eyewitnesses, no one actually saw you two speaking at the event, so how could you tell us the story of how you met?” Nadja asks, her gaze keen. Were Adrien a lesser man, and less accustomed to Nadja’s intense and sharp line of questioning, he may have been intimidated. But he knows Nathalie chose Nadja particularly because of her integrity as a journalist, and he is nothing if not talented at putting it on for the cameras. He feels Marinette’s hand tighten around his out of nerves, and he gives her a little squeeze to reassure her.

“We actually met on the way out.” He says. It should probably disturb him, how easily the lie comes, but he is so used to it at this stage that he is perhaps desensitized. Marinette is slightly less accustomed to blatantly lying to the public and opts instead to remain silent as he continues to elaborate this entirely false account. “We were both in a rush- I had a flight to catch the next morning, and Marinette was understandably tired after a big night. Marinette was actually running, and,” He is unable to keep the smile from his voice, and Marinette stiffens beside him in surprise. “She ran straight into this priceless vase and it shattered all over the ground.” He says with slight laughter. “She looked so embarrassed, and I felt so bad for her that I secretly called some of the staff over to help her clean up, and when she tried to make a get away afterwards, I went up and said hello.”

Marinette, to her credit, manages to conceal her surprise well behind some embarrassed laughter. She is right to be surprised- the story is not entirely a lie, after all. It had occurred to him while he was going through the files Nathalie prepared for him, that he had met Marinette before. Once he had realised she had been at that same party, he recalled that he had seen her knock over the vase at the party. He doubts she is aware he had witnessed the event, since he had actually left straight after summoning the staff to help her, rather than approach her like he had just claimed. Nadja laughs.

“What a charming first meeting!” She says. “How did you progress from there?”

Adrien pauses to ponder and Marinette leaps in.

“He left me his number, and of course, when the world’s number one bachelor gives you his number, you call him back. And it just kind of flowed from there, I suppose!” She says with a practiced laugh. Nadja joins in, charmed by her playfulness.

“I completely understand- in fact, I think every woman in the country understands!” She says with a wink. Marinette flushes and her gaze drops to their conjoined hands. “Alright, my next question is about your dating life.” Nadja continues. “From the time you met, to when you got married, was all very quick. Marinette in particular, it seems rather sudden for you to leap into a romantic relationship considering all the sudden revelations about your background- what made you decide to get married so quickly?”

There is a pause that lingers too long following her question before Adrien and Marinette collect themselves to answer. It isn’t like they weren’t prepared for such a question- in fact, it was at the top of the list of potential questions that were likely to be asked. He is not sure what causes them to suddenly be awkward, but perhaps it is the skillfulness of his initial lie that has them hesitant and unwilling to continue. Regardless, Marinette recovers first and parrots out the pre-prepared answer.

“I think that all the sudden revelations made me more eager to marry him- he felt like the only constant in my life, you know?” She says, and Nadja seems satisfied at her answer.

Having satisfied her quota for probing and uncomfortable questions that would likely catch them in their lie, Nadja proceeds to move on to easier and more trivial questions, and by the time they were excused for a lunch break, Adrien is feeling fairly confident and comfortable. Following this, it would just be a photoshoot and then they were free for the day- he has no other commitments to attend until the next day.

Adrien is in such a good mood in the changing room as he prepares for the photoshoot that he doesn’t notice when someone enters the room until the creak of the door swinging open sounds. He swings around, having only buttoned his shirt up halfway before the interruption. And what an interruption it is, because Lila is staring at him, slightly embarrassed from having burst in on him changing, but also with a terrifyingly determined glint in her eyes that can only spell trouble for him.

Lila isn’t at the top of the list of people he doesn’t want to see, but she’s certainly up there, and his first instinct is to try and tug his shirt close while stuttering dumbly at her.

“L-lila?” He gasps. “Why are you _here_?”

Lila has the decency to turn around and give him some privacy, giving him the opportunity to hastily do up his buttons. Only, he misbuttons in his rush and ends up being stuck trying to do up his buttons while struggling with the emotional burden that is being in her presence.

Adrien wouldn’t say that he hates Lila. What happened between them wasn’t entirely her fault- yes, she lied and manipulated him, but part of the disastrous outcome of what she had done was due to poor timing. She definitely didn’t mean for things to work out the way they did. Still, he supposes he must feel at least a little resentment towards her or he wouldn’t have allowed the king to cut her out of Adrien’s life as completely as he did. He has no wish to see her, at all, but she has a knack at picking the worst moments in his life to appear.

 Lila abandons her earlier sense of decency and turns back towards him before he manages to finish doing up his buttons.

“Adrien,” She starts, stepping towards him, reaching out for him before she realises how highly inappropriate it would be, considering his current state of undress. She pauses with her hands raised towards him.

Lila’s curse of bad timing continues to persist, it seems, because it is in that incriminating moment, with Lila reaching towards him and his shirt still uncomfortably unbuttoned that the door swings open, Marinette’s fist still raised mid-knock.

“Sorry!” Marinette exclaims. “The door wasn’t closed properly, so when I knocked, it flew ope-“

Her statement dies with the suddenness of a candle extinguishing as she registers the compromising position her husband is currently situated in.

“I-“ She begins, looking pale and shocked and a whole host of emotions that feel like a sucker punch to Adrien’s gut.

“Princess?” Everyone freezes when Marinette’s sentence is interrupted by a voice that is most definitely Nadja’s. For one horrifying moment, the three of them just stare stupidly at each other, and then Marinette leaps into action.

She rapidly shoves Lila behind a curtain, hissing at her to stay in place. Lila only provides a little bit of resistance, before concealing herself behind the curtain. Marinette then turns towards Adrien, a disturbingly intense cold fire in her eyes as she takes rapid steps towards him. He does not have time to process or deduce what her next actions will be before she anchors her hands in the collar of his shirt and tugs him down towards her.

She stops at kissing distance, right in time for Nadja to round the corner. For a second, Adrien is too stunned to turn towards Nadja. He has had the time or opportunity to examine Marinette’s features quite as closely as he does now, and for some reason his gaze fixates on the charming scattering of freckles across rosy cheeks and wide, blue eyes rather than the current situation at hand. Marinette turns her head towards Nadja, looking surprised, and her hands slide from where they are planted at the join of his shoulder and neck to the open wings of his shirt. She tugs them close and for some reason he is painfully aware of the heat of her hands holding his shirt close through the thin fabric.

“Nadja!” Marinette exclaims, and the embarrassment in her voice is so genuine that Adrien almost believes they have been caught in the act by the reporter. “I’m so sorry.” She doesn’t step away from Adrien, keeping his modesty by holding his shirt flaps in place. Nadja just glances between the two of them awkwardly before laughing uncomfortably.

“No, I’m sorry! I did think it was strange that you were taking so long to come back from your break- I’ll give you two some privacy.” She says quickly, stepping backwards. “After all, I remember what it was like to be a newlywed.” With a wink and a smile, Nadja is gone, leaving the three occupants of the room in an awkward silence.

Marinette drops her hands from his shirt and the absence of the warmth of them against his torso leave him cold. She steps back and he feels like all the air has been sucked from the room. Her expression is unreadable, but she searches his gaze with a morbid curiosity, just like she did the first time Lila had interrupted them. He does not know if she finds what she’s looking for, because she turns and flees without a word, leaving him alone once more with Lila.

He groans, loudly and buries his face in his hands. Is this just how things with him and Marinette are destined to go, from now on?

++

Adrien does the sensible thing for the next week or so and avoids Marinette like the plague. It seems their roles have switched- while initially, Marinette had hid in her room and crept around the house like an intruder, he now seems to be the one acting like an intruder. On one particular occasion she is ninety-percent sure he hid in the pantry right as she entered the kitchen, but she can’t be sure.  

She is not sure whether or not to be relieved or disappointed at his avoidance. On one hand, the level of discomfort she would have to face should she actually confront him on what went down on the day of their interview is too much to bear. On the other hand, she’s just so… _lonely_.

If she is being completely honest with herself, she is not sure what has her so conflicted and upset over what happened. Adrien has no more obligation to be loyal to her than she does to him. They are husband and wife in name only. Only on paper. If he wants to have one or two lovers on the side to distract him from the reality of his situation, it is not her place to judge and certainly not be upset.

But she is. She’s very upset. Everything she knows about Adrien is so conflicting- there is what she though was their disastrous first meeting, where an ex-lover threw wine at her, but then there is their real first meeting, where he saved her from complete humiliation on what was easily one of the most stressful days of her life, without her even knowing. There was their charming lunch date when he had seemed so friendly and had even offered her an out, but then there was the incident with Lila right after.

There was the day of their wedding, where he had promised her, away from the cameras and people, that he would be her husband and her friend. But now there was this incident with Lila. She just doesn’t know who Adrien is. Which is scary because he is her husband and she has no idea who he is, but also scary because she seems to keep getting fooled by him. Why did she believe his stupid vows on their wedding day? Why is she so hurt that he didn’t honour them, when she has hardly honoured hers?

“Are you ok?” Her grandfather enquires, obviously having noticed that she has been staring at the same words on policy making for the past ten minutes. She blinks and the words swim on the page.

“I’m fine.” She croaks, clearing her throat awkward and shifting in her seat. He blinks and smiles at her sympathetically at her.

“How about you finish that page and then we’ll move on to another topic? We haven’t discussed your coronation recently?” He says. Marinette attempts something that she hopes is a smile but comes out as more of a pained grimace and unfortunately her sharp-eyed grandfather picks up on it instantly. “You’ve been off, this past week, Marinette.” He comments airily and she stiffens. He smiles at her, a wizened grin that pulls at the wrinkles gathered in the corners of his eyes. “Your mother used to be the same way- she’d keep everything in until she’d just… explode under the stress. If you aren’t ok…” He begins, reaching forward and taking a wrinkly hand in hers. “You can tell me. I want to help.”

She glances down, surprised at the warmth behind her eyes, a precursor to tears.

“I’m-“ She begins, but she is interrupted by the familiar jingle of her phone ringtone cutting through their conversation. She glances down at her phone, and her mother’s contact image beams up at her. She smiles apologetically at Master Fu before taking the phone call.

“Marinette!” Her mother calls eagerly through the line, her voice slightly scrambled as all international calls seem to be. Marinette is momentarily taken aback by the joy in her mother’s tone, but she smiles at the familiar tone that had been lacking in recent months.

“Mum!” She calls back. “What’s going on?”

“I wanted to wait to tell you, but I just got so excited that I can’t hold it in,” Her mother begins. “We found a donor.”

Marinette feels an odd sensation, like she’s freefalling and her stomach is swooping.

“What?” She croaks out. A strange sort of elated dizziness washes over her and she presses her face into one hand, cradling her phone to her ear with the other.

“The surgery is going forward, in two days’ time.” Her mother continued, and a burning sensation stings at Marinette’s eyes and tears are spilling forth before she has the presence of mind to stop them.

“Dad got a donor?” She says slowly.

“He did.” Her mum responds, and the elation and relief and joy in her voice are too much to handle as Marinette leaps to her feet, ecstatic.

“When’s the surgery? I’ll fly over.” She starts.

“No, no no,” Her mother exclaims. “You’ll do no such thing, you have far too many duties over there to handle. Dad will fly to you when he recovers from the surgery.”

Marinette tries to argue some more, but ultimately she relents- the news is too good to sour it with stubbornness. The promise that she may see her dad outside of a hospital, in person, is too heavy and filled with hope, and she is almost scared of the feelings that settle in her chest. Still, no amount of fear can temper the unbridled joy, and her grandpa is quick to let her go once he realises the good news has completely shot her concentration.

He allows her to leave with the promise that she will meet him in a couple of days to go to some unknown destination that he seems determined to keep a surprise.

And just like that, for the next couple of days, Marinette is floating. She even smiles at Adrien during one awkward encounter where he had been taking a phonecall in the foyer and not expecting her to waltz down the stairs with a beam on her face. She does silly things like pluck flowers for the staff and leave cups of tea outside Adrien’s study when she knows he’s inside. She powers through her lessons and forges through planning for her reign ahead with a vigour that has even Master Fu surprised. Marinette cannot remember feeling this relieved or happy in nearly a year, not since before the doctor informed her of the need for a donor and a surgery they could not afford.

The next two days fly by with ease and it is before she knows it that she finds herself in the front seat of her grandfather’s sedan. She supposes he may have chosen this particular day so that she doesn’t spend the day moping in anxiety of the result of her father’s surgery. He is extremely short in stature and has the seat right up against the steering wheel. He looks quite comical, clutching the steering wheel and scanning the area around him through thick spectacles that make his eyes look huge.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to drive?” Marinette offers. He shakes his head.

“Just be quiet and enjoy the ride.” He responds, and Marinette jerks forward when he slams the brakes and bursts into a outraged titter of his native tongue. Marinette understands it well enough to know what he’s saying would make a hardened criminal blush. Most people from her kingdom, while they speak both, prefer to speak the common language, and some of the older generations still struggle and prefer to speak in the older language. Master Fu glances at her and realises that she could understand his language, and looks embarrassed.

“We will reach there soon.” He informs her, and they lapse into silence once more. Marinette fidgets awkwardly with the hem of her shirt, while Master Fu begins to hum along with some of the old jazz playing in the background. They had been in the car for an hour already- she notices that they are zooming right towards the border of their kingdoms.

She must doze off for the rest of the trip because all she can recall of it is the gentle buzz of the slow jazz and the warm sunlight through the car window before her grandfather is gently nudging her awake. She starts, shooting up, her breath caught in her throat. Slowly gaining her bearings, she starts to register the area they are in, sliding out of the car seat and onto the pavement. She thinks they may be in one of the towns along the border of the Coccinelle kingdom, based on the ladybug motifs hanging in the shop windows across the road. It is a quaint, warm little town, and the park beside her opens into a large garden. A white pebbled path cuts through the flowering bushes to a large fountain in the centre. She can’t quite see it at this distance, but follows obediently behind her grandfather as he begins to walk towards it.

“I couldn’t organize a flight to the capital, since the council doesn’t want you making any public appearances until preparations for you coronation are finished.” He explains as he walks. The fountain looms closer and the sunlight catches on the foamy spray. They come to a stop before the fountain. Marinette stares at it- it is beautiful, not doubt, with white stone cut in intricate patterns and the sunlight scattered across the spurts of the water, but she is confused why they have driven a full two hours to see a fountain. Surely there are some in Kingdom Noir?

“This is a memorial.” Her grandfather informs her. “This town is where I raised your mother.”

His voice chokes on the last words, and she turns towards him, to find his eyes have filled with tears. He clears his throat and turns away from her, dabbing gently at his eyes with a handkerchief he produces from his pocket.

“I wanted to bring you here at least once, before the coronation. There’s a bigger, more official memorial in the capital, but this is… this is the one she would have preferred.” He explains, though the words are choked. Marinette blinks, before turning in bewilderment towards the fountain. She notices a metal plaque along the edge of the fountain, and steps towards it.

_Here, in this town, is where our beloved queen was born._

_Here, in this town, is where we will remember her._

Beneath the engraving are the words _Queen Tikki,_ and the years marking her shortened lifespan. Marinette drops to her knees to trace over the words, bewildered. The engravings are thin and delicate, and she feels them beneath the pads of her fingers. The lifespan is remarkably short- apparently the Queen was a mere 23 years old when she had Marinette, meaning she was only in her forties when her life was cut so tragically short. And nearly half of her short life was spent grieving the daughter she would never reunite with.

In the time since learning about her origins, Marinette has spared maybe a thought or two towards her deceased biological parents. A bit of regret in passing, maybe a bit of curiosity and longing when she could spare the time. But never has the tragedy of their lives struck her as strongly as they do in that moment. She feels a tear trickle down her cheeks, and surprise, she dabs at the moisture.

“She wanted to be an architect.” Master Fu explains, having regained his composure enough to tell her story. “She had known your father all her life, because of my occupation, but they officially got to know each other during her studies. She did manage to squeeze in a few years as an architect, but ultimately her duties as queen took over.” 

Marinette glances up at the fountain. It is beautiful, a complex array of motifs for their kingdom, and the spray of the fountain is clever, drawing patterns in the air with water.

“She designed this.” He informs Marinette. “It was supposed to be a birthday gift to you, but we repurposed it.”

Marinette straightens, wiping the moisture from her face and turning to smile at her grandfather.

“Thank you for taking me here.” She tells him. She is interrupted then, by a phone call, and she smiles when she sees her mother’s contact image.

Marinette nods apologetically to her grandfather, before walking away to grant herself some privacy as she answers the phone call.

Her mother’s voice on the other end makes her feel like a stone has dropped in her stomach.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's take votes on what the biggest plot twist on this story is, haha. Does the Queen's identity make you uncomfortable? Probably. My sister found it weird, haha! So I don't blame you. I just needed a character from the universe to fit the role, and she worked!
> 
> Anyways, as always, please come hang with me on tumblr. I get pretty lonely, so feel free to come be my friend :D


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been really looking forward to posting this chapter! It's definitely one of my favourites. After the cliffhanger last week, hopefully this chapter is enjoyable and satisfying!

**Chapter 5: There's bound to be a fight**

* * *

 

Today is the day. The day Adrien will apologise for the atrociously embarrassing misunderstanding that happened a week ago. He had chickened out and avoided Marinette like every responsible adult does when they do something embarrassing. But then Marinette had been doing things like smiling at him and leaving warm cups of fragrant herbal tea, and he had gathered enough courage at her little peace offerings to decide that today was the day.

Only, there had been yet another drastic shift in Marinette’s mood following her return from the excursion she had had with her grandfather the day before. She had been like a zombie- she had neither avoided nor met his gaze as she walked in, shuffling her feet and looking like all the joy had drained from the world. He’s not sure if she’s been in this state all day since she locked herself in her room, but he has a feeling she has if the way she stumbled into their limo in the evening is any indicator. A stylist had dropped by to do her hair and makeup, and in her report to Adrien before leaving, Marinette had barely been able to put on her dress alone. He is more than a little concerned- is she sick? Did her grandfather take her to join a cult that sucks the life force out of people? What exactly happened yesterday?

Unfortunately, now is not the time to dwell on the zombie-like status of his wife. At a gala like the one they were attending today, he is supposed to network and win politicians and business men to his side. He’s meant to make them support him and give them confidence that he is an appropriate prince for their beloved kingdom.

About the third time his attention drifts that night, trying to spot where Marinette has been dragged to by Nathalie, he is interrupted by a familiar face. A sorely missed face that he had not expected to see for a lot longer.

“Nino!” He exclaims, enthusiastically, pulling him into a hug. Nino grins and claps him on the back.

“It’s good to see you, man.” He says. Adrien smiles and pulls away.

“What are you doing here?” Adrien asks.

“Well, I was granted a few weeks leave and was given some very interesting gossip.” He explains, plucking a champagne flute off the tray of a passing waitress and sipping it. He glances at Adrien out of the corner of his eye. “Now why didn’t my boy tell me he was getting married?”

Adrien laughs uncomfortably, scratching at the back of his neck and glancing down at the glossy surface of his designed shoes.

“It happened pretty quickly. Didn’t have time to get a message out to the middle of a warzone.” He says. Nino nods disbelievingly.

“Sure.” He responds patronizingly. “I’m a little relieved, if I’m being honest- I was honestly afraid you’d end up marrying Chloe for a while there.”

As much as he adores his sharp-tongued friend, he cannot repress a shudder at the thought of marrying her.

“Honestly, me too.” He admits, and Nino laughs.

“I’ve seen pictures- you sure know how to pick ‘em! Now why haven’t you introduced me yet?” He demands, and Adrien swirls his glass of wine awkwardly, before downing the remainder in one gulp. Nino raises an eyebrow at this and one corner of his mouth tips upwards.

“Trouble in paradise?” He enquires. Adrien nods, glancing away, his throat thick and burning.

“Something like that.” He responds, and the words are far more choked than he should have allowed them to be. Nino’s gaze softens into something sympathetic- he is perceptive, especially when it comes to Adrien, and Adrien can feel long time friend picking apart every body language cue and facial expression that Adrien is unintentionally giving away.

“You ok, man?” Nino says slowly. Adrien nods, already glancing around for another drink.

“I’ve been better.” Is all he allows himself to admit, and Nino’s mouth twists. He looks like he’s about to interrogate further, but that is when Chloe deigns to make her appearance, donned in a designer dress that is probably far too revealing for a charity gala, smoothly downing an entire glass of wine in the short distance she crosses to arrive at Adrien’s side.

“Adrikins,” She greets. She nods slightly at Nino, looking slightly like she’s swallowed something sour. “Nino.”

He smiles and nods back.

“Chloe. Good to see you- I thought that might have been your broomstick I saw in the carpark on my way in.” Chloe squints at him, depositing her empty glass on the tray of a passing waitress and grabbing another.

“I see you’ve decided to crawl out of the underworld for another night, Nino.” She says with a sneer, snatching the flute of champagne out of his hand and downing it in one go, before handing the empty glass back to him and taking a delicate sip of her own. “Don’t let me interrupt your brotherly reunion, I just thought I’d let dear our Adrikins over here know that his darling wife looks like she’s about three obnoxious giggles away from a fist fight with some of the most charming socialites in our kingdom.” She comments, gesturing to where Marinette is looking distinctly uncomfortable crowded by two women near the bar. They grin eagerly at her, like vultures ready to snatch up a morsel. Adrien grimaces, and warmed by the alcohol he’s been steadily putting away throughout the way, he bids farewell to his friends to nudge his way through the crowd towards his wife.

As he nears the group, he begins to hear hints of conversation trickle towards him.

“All I’m saying is,” A tall woman with deep red lipstick and waist-length hair says, cocking her hip and staring unwaveringly at Marinette. “You married him _awfully_ quickly.”

Marinette stiffens, just minutely, just enough that probably only Adrien picks up on it. The subtle tension in her shoulders, the way she shifts her stance just slightly, the way her fingers curl in towards her palm, it all screams discomfort.

He steps forward smoothly and slides a hand against her palm, forcing her to uncurl her fingers and lace them with his. To her credit, she does not jolt or start, merely turns her face towards him, an odd light in her eyes. The embarrassed flush that sits high on her cheeks and the slightly frazzled look in her eyes is a minor improvement from the zombie that she was when the night started out. Adrien smiles at her as warmly as he can muster, before turning to the three women that have crowded around Marinette.

“Hello, ladies,” He greets. “I see you’ve had the pleasure of meeting my wife- mind if I join in the conversation?”

The tall woman, whose lipstick is applied with such accuracy the sharp edges look like they could cut someone, barely manages to mask her distaste at being interrupted with a sour smile.

“Your Highness,” She says with a bow, and the other two women follow suit, “We were just discussing your _whirlwind lovestory_.” She recites, like the words physically pain her to say. Her gaze is anchored firmly on Marinette’s, sharp and intimidating, just like the rest of her, but Marinette does not cower.  Adrien narrows his eyes at the audacity of this woman, who acts as if he is oblivious to the tension hovering in the air. He has eyes, just like everyone in this small circle, and he can see the disrespect plain in the expressions of both women before him.

“Is that so?” He responds, tightening his grip on Marinette’s hand just slightly, and tugging her towards him as subtly as he can. She follows obediently, stepping in close enough that he can feel the warmth of her body through the blazer of his suit. A shorter woman, who he recalls is a member of their parliament (and probably falsely secure in her social standing as a result), speaks up.

“Yes, we were just wondering how much money she had in her inheritance that she could buy your hand in marriage.” She jokes smugly, and Adrien has to admit that it takes quite a bit of effort to not let his jaw go slack in offence. She’s drunk, he reasons, he can see it in the slight sway of her stance and the redness of her cheeks. Both women will wake in the morning severely regretting having talked to not just the Princess, but the Crown Prince as well, with such disrespect.

Irritated, Adrien releases his grip on Marinette’s hand and wraps his arm around her, pulling her in close in what is obviously meant to be a showy and affectionate gesture. He regrets the petty gesture the moment he feels her go stiff in his arms, but he cannot take it back.

“Well perhaps in the future you can wonder about your job security, because if I hear any more slanderous gossip spilling from your lips I will not hesitate to make a lawsuit out of it.” Adrien threatens. He turns to Marinette and smiles weakly. “Let’s go- I have something I need to speak to you about.”

Marinette lets herself be tugged until they reach a private alcove on a balcony, and Adrien slides the door shut when she whirls on him.

“What _the heck_ was that?” She demands, and he hasn’t really seen Marinette angry before but she is angry right now. Confused and a little disorientated from her sudden change in mannerisms, he takes an unsure step backwards.

“I just thought you could use a hand,” He says meekly, and fury flashes in her eyes.

“Ah, so it’s only acceptable to act like my husband in _public_?” She responds, more animated than he’s seen her all day. Gone is the absent, miserable light to her eyes. “Maybe put on a show for anyone standing by, so they can look at you and think ‘wow, what a wonderful husband he is’?”

“What? No, that’s not what I-“ Adrien begins, trying to defend himself, but Marinette cuts him off.

“Stop it, please.” She begs him. “Just stop being so… _inconsistent!_ ”

“Inconsistent?” Adrien exclaims, thoroughly confused. He has no idea what she’s talking about or what in the prior sequence of events led to this blowup.

“Just… either be nice to me or be awful to me.” She says, losing some of her steam, and deflating something. Her expression takes on that listless dimness that had been plaguing her the past two days. “Don’t… don’t be nice to me in public if you won’t do the same at home.”

Stiffening, Adrien starts to understand what Marinette is talking about, and he feels the beginning of guilt tickle at the inside of his ribs. Admittedly, he has been running a bit hot and cold with Marinette, but it’s not out of any malicious intention. The whole situation is just so confusing and he feels so out of his depth. Marinette is unpredictable and he doesn’t know what she wants, which is hard enough on its own, but then, he doesn’t know what he himself wants either. Still, he feels a brief sting or frustration, enough to retaliate at her accusations.

“You’ve done the same!” He shoots back. “One minute we’re getting along fine, and the next you’re avoiding me! One second you’re smiling at me and leaving tea for me and the next you’re like a zombie.”

Marinette straightens, and her eyes go wide, filling abruptly with tears. Adrien gapes at her, instantly regretting his words as tears begin to spill down her cheeks.

“That’s…” She starts. “That’s because…” her hands come up to scrub at her cheeks and he notes with alarm that she will smudge her mascara and he doesn’t know how they can make it through the function room without someone picking up on the fact that they’ve been arguing.

“Wait, don’t cry, please!” He begs. In a panic, he bats her hands away, pulling out a handkerchief to dabs the tears away gently, taking care not to smear the mascara that clings to her already-long dark lashes.

“I’m sorry.” She exhales, falling limply in his grasp and allowing him to gently clean her face. “I’ve just… I…” Her words become choked and die in her throat. A fresh wave of tears spills forward and she squints up at Adrien with such an achingly heartbroken expression that he feels his own eyes sting with unshed tears.

“I think it’s time for us to go home.” He says softly. “I think we’ve had enough for one day.”

Slowly, Marinette nods her agreement and allows him to lead her out of the building as he calls for the driver.

No more words are exchanged in the long ride home.

++

Of the things that Adrien is expecting to find at the breakfast table the next morning, Marinette hovering beside it with breakfast fully laid out is not one of them. He had assumed, following their fight from the night before, that she would return to ignoring him with the occasional tea cup outside his study for him to overthink, for the rest of their lives. Obviously that is not Marinette’s intention, if her presence in the dining room is any indicator.

She knots her fingers together nervously while he continues to stare stupidly at her. Finally, Marinette can bear the tension no longer and clears her throat awkwardly.

“I… made breakfast.” She announces hesitantly, gesturing to the cut fruits and scrambled eggs and toast she has set out on their table. Adrien stares- he has not had a meal not prepared by professional chefs since his mother was alive, and the thought of a homecooked meal makes his throat grow tight. He scrambles to sit opposite her. She flushes at his eagerness. “It’s nothing major… I’m a little rusty at my cooking since I haven’t cooked in so long, but I thought it might be nice… to have breakfast together.”

“It’s wonderful.” He says, a sort of sticky, warm feeling that resembles molasses filling his chest. Marinette ducks her head to hide a delighted little smile before she tilts her head up to meet his gaze head on.

“I wanted to apologise.” She begins. “For yesterday… I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.”

Adrien pauses with a forkful of scrambled eggs halfway to his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it.” He reassures her hastily. “Nothing you said was untrue.”

Marinette sips delicately at a cup of coffee, her hands wrapped securely around the mug as she contemplates her next words.

“It wasn’t anything you did.” She admits. “I mean, it has been a little frustrating, with our living situation, and certain aspects of your lifestyle choices,” She says, unable to keep the edge out of her voice and Adrien glances down at his plate, embarrassed. “But none of that is your fault. I lashed out you because… because…” Her voice chokes, and she clears her throat. “I’ve just been having a really hard time, lately.”

Adrien must pull some sort of distressed expression at her words because she scrambles to amend her statement.

“Not because of you! Well, I suppose the whole marriage thing doesn’t help, but it’s because of something else.” She says slowly.

“Something else?” Adrien echoes, concerned. She nods, setting her mug down on the table and fidgeting with the rim.

“Did I ever tell you how they discovered I was the lost princess?” She enquires in a small voice, her voice taking on a sort of sad, raspy quality. Adrien shakes his head and tries to withhold the curiosity he is feeling from his tone as he speaks his next words.

“No, I don’t believe you did.” He informs her. She runs the pads of her fingertips along the rim of her coffee mug before planting her palms firmly on the table and glancing up at the ceiling to avoid meeting his gaze as she begins her story.

“My father doesn’t have very good health,” She begins. “My adopted father, that is. He’s been in and out of hospital for a long time now- he’s been getting dialysis for nearly a year, but his condition worsened drastically a few months ago, to the point where he’d need an organ transplant if he wanted to leave the hospital.”

Adrien heart tightens at her words, stunned at the revelation, but he does not interrupt as she continues her story.

“I know mum would never let me donate an organ, and dad probably wouldn’t either, but I still decided to get tested behind their backs. The doctor had his suspicions and ran a DNA test at the same time, and the rest is history.” She says with a bitter smile. “Only, me not being their biological child meant he didn’t have a donor… not that we could afford the surgery in the first place. So when the offer came to become the richest woman in the kingdom,” She trails off, and Adrien completes the sentence for her.

“You took it.” His throat is dry, and he watches with distress as a tear trickles down Marinette’s face. She doesn’t seem to notice it, staring determinedly at some fixed point at the ceiling. She takes a few breaths before she continues speaking.

“A few days ago I got a call from my mother, saying that they’d found a donor for my dad- he’d refused to let me use the whole princess thing to move him up the list, so he has to wait like everyone else,” She says, and Adrien goes to congratulate her, but something about her expression has him holding back. “But,” Her voice breaks, “But, the day before yesterday mum called me, about the surgery, and, ” This time it breaks off into a sob and tears begin to spill down her cheeks in earnest, and Adrien’s heart _breaks_ at the sight. “The surgery fell through!” She breaks off into a wail, breaking down completely in sobs. Adrien’s body moves without his permission, as he all but dives around the table to tug Marinette into his arms. She collapses like a ragdoll, sobbing desperately into his shoulder. “So I took it out on you, and I’m so sorry Adrien!” She sobs, in near hysterics, and Adrien vaguely registers that he too is crying.

Like slow motion, the memories of everything leading up to this moment filter through his head like an old movie- Marinette’s humiliated face when Chloe threw wine at her, her desperation to marry Adrien despite her obvious distaste and discomfort with the idea of an arranged marriage, her attempts to flee on their wedding day and her desperate grief at the absence of her father to walk her down the aisle- slowly the puzzle pieces begin to fit together and paint a picture that makes Adrien sick to his stomach. Marinette signing her life away, desperate to save her adopted parents, while still reeling over the revelation that they had lied to her for her entire life, and then having to deal with a terrible husband like himself on top off all that, is far too much to handle for such a tiny little person. Marinette continues to sob against him as he runs his hands soothingly through her hair, still unable to hold back tears of his own.

He knows the agony of seeing a beloved parent slowly wither away in a hospital bed, and the knowledge that everything Marinette had done up to this point feels like a knife wound in his heart.

“Shh,” He whispers soothingly, “Shhh.” Her hands come up to grip at the material of his shirt as her sobs slowly lower in frequency and volume.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, his voice crackling with tears. “I’m sorry you had to go through all that alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t more of a help, and I’m sorry that the surgery fell through and I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible husband.” He rants.

Marinette’s sobs slowly subside. For a short while, she just remains limply in his arms, before pulling away. She looks surprised, and she brings her hands up to cup his face and wipe the tears from his eyes.

“Why are _you_ crying?” She says, with a slightly awkward, teary laugh. He smiles weakly.

“I can’t help it.” He says. He tugs at her chair so that it is facing away from the table and he can drop to a squat before her, resting his forearms in her lap. He brings his hands up to wipe at her tears with his sleeves, and smiles weakly. “I’d have to be a monster or a demon to not cry for you after what you’ve been through.”

Marinette smiles and looks away, more tears welling up in her eyes. Her eyes are puffy and red and the tip of her nose has gone bright red, and he is not sure that he looks in much a better state. For a short while, they just sit there in silence, Adrien still reeling over just how much his poor wife has endured the past few months, and Marinette just basking in his surprisingly comforting presence.

“Marinette...” He says softly. Now is probably his only chance to apologise and explain what happened. “With Lila… I’m sorry for that misunderstanding. I want you to know that nothing is going on between me and Lila- nothing ever has and nothing ever will. She’s just an old friend who… took things too far a while back and is struggling to come to terms with our marriage. There’s nothing between us. She burst in on me changing and wanted to talk, and that’s when you walked in. And the wine incident… I’m sorry about that too. I didn’t apologise to you at the lunch, because I was embarrassed, but I should have apologized long before we got married. Chloe is a bit mean, but she really genuinely thought she was helping me. She shouldn’t have done it, and I’m sorry I didn’t stop it from happening.  And as for being so inconsistent…. I just didn’t know how to deal with all this.” He gestures wildly around him. “It was just so… _overwhelming._ I’m sorry for being a terrible husband and not keeping my wedding vows.” He admits.

Marinette chews her lip before smiling, resting her hands on top of his where they sit in her lap.

“I was inconsistent too.” She says. “I feel like… there’s been a lot of misunderstandings and things gone unsaid between us. What if we… started over?”

“Started over?” Adrien echoes. Marinette nods eagerly, brushing Adrien’s hands out of her lap. She gets to her feet and tugs Adrien to his feet as well.

“Hi, I’m Marinette. My parents are bakers and I recently found out I was a princess. My favourite colour is pink and I like high places and I would do literally anything to make my parents happy.” She says with a smile that is only partially dimmed by the redness of her eyes and glimmer of tears on her cheeks and under her nose. She offers a hand out to Adrien to shake, which he accepts. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Despite himself, Adrien finds himself smiling. He already knows all this thanks to their twenty questions game from what seems a lifetime ago, but he understands the sentiment behind what she is doing.

“I’m Adrien. My father is the king and I’m next in line for the throne… My favourite colour is green, my favourite sport is fencing and I’m married to a crazily strong woman who is clearly capable of anything if she can put up with a husband like me.” He says warmly. Marinette blushes as she releases his hand. For a moment, they just stare at each other. Marinette is the first to crack, glancing away and clearing her throat.

“We should probably finish breakfast, the eggs are getting cold.” She says, taking a seat once more. He follows suit.

There’s still one more thing he wants to say before they both head off for their respective schedules for the day.

“Are you free tonight?” He asks nonchalantly, between mouthfuls of lukewarm scrambled eggs. Marinette glances up in surprise with a mouthful of egg and a little bit of it hovering at the corner of her lips. She swallow before nodding.

“I can be.” She responds. He smiles down into his eggs, a little too awkward to meet her gaze.

“That’s good… Would you be willing to meet me here tonight when you get home? I have a surprise.” He shoots a tentative glance up at Marinette, to find her smiling at him, puffy faced and slightly squinty and he feels an odd hiccupping sensation in his chest.

“I’d love to.”

++

Marinette loves high places. She’s mentioned it in a few of the interviews he’s skimmed over in preparation for their marriage, and she proved it on the day of their marriage. That’s why Adrien was fairly pleased with himself, when, during their engagement, he began to make plans for a surprise that would hopefully make her happy and touched enough that she’d begin to open up to him. Of course, nothing in this marriage so far had gone to plan, for both her and him, and so this particular surprise had remained neglected, hovering at the back of his mind should the opportunity ever arise.

And today it had. Adrien thinks this is the perfect time to surprise Marinette, and hopefully it will help cheer her up. This is why Adrien waits anxiously in the foyer from Marinette to return from a meeting discussing her coronation. He had asked some of the staff hovering around the mansion for help, and they had been amused at his shallow attempt to please his wife, but Adrien is both apprehensive and excited about how things turned out.

Marinette strides in, looking exhausted, her hair slightly mussed up. She looks far too young and innocent for the severe, businessy pantsuit her stylist had forced her into for this meeting. When she sees Adrien hovering in the foyer, something close to a smile crosses her face. The exhaustion leeches from her eyes and leaves a sort of hesitant warmth that has him smiling warmly back at her.

“Am I late?” She asks, tugging her hair loose from its bun as she walks towards him. It falls around her face in soft, silky waves and Adrien is momentarily distracted by the movement. He does eventually remember himself and clears his throat.

“Not at all!” He exclaims enthusiastically. “I have a surprise for you! Follow me!”

She looks surprised at his eagerness, but follows behind as requested regardless as he leads her to the second story and out onto the balcony. The balcony opens out to show their extensive garden and the lights of the city twinkle along the horizon at the edge of their property. It is a gorgeous view, one he knows Marinette enjoys- he has often passed her reading out here early in the morning, with her clutching a mug of tea or coffee, but has never plucked up the courage to join her. Marinette glances around the balcony, looking confused.

“Is this the surprise?” She asks him. He shakes his head, ducking behind a pillar and reappearing holding a large ladder aloft. Marinette squints at him, confused. “That’s the surprise?” She sounds a little discontent, but Adrien is not easy to put down.

“Don’t sound so disappointed, princess! Do you know how hard it is to buy ladders for royalty these days?” He asks. “I had to ask three different staff members before I just had to go to the hardware store myself in disguise during our engagement.” He explains, as he props the ladder up against the pillar. The balcony has no overhead cover- where he leans the ladder against gives them direct access to the roof. “We don’t have an attic, unfortunately, so I had to get creative.”

Marinette is still endearingly confused, particularly when Adrien begins to hesitantly climb up the ladder. As a sheltered prince, he can’t say he has much experience climbing onto rooftops, but he manages just fine, hoisting himself up onto the roof, before turning around and offering Marinette an outstretched hand. She follows suit, climbing with far more grace than he had, and heaving herself onto the roof tiles. She blinks a bit at the set up before her, before turning to Adrien, her eyes wide.

A picnic blanket sits on the flat roof- this is the only section of the whole mansion where the roof is flat, and Adrien knows because he had scoured the whole building during their engagement to find somewhere where Marinette could indulge her love of heights. He’s also set up pillows, some drinks, and an ice cream container.

“You did this?” Marinette asks, slightly breathless, and he beams, gesturing grandly towards it.

“Tadaa!” He exclaims, plopping himself down on one of the pillows. “I admittedly only set up the blankets this evening, but the ladder I bought well in advance.”

Marinette settled beside him, sinking into one plush cushion before grabbing another and settling it into her lap. She wraps her arms around it, shifting her gaze to take in the clear few of the city stretching out before them. Their property is slightly out of the main area of the capital and surrounded by lots of spacious land, so they have a clear view of the skyline without sacrificing any starlight.

“It’s amazing, Adrien, thank you.” She says sincerely.

“I remembered you saying you liked heights, so I thought I’d prepare this for you while we were engaged… I never got the chance to show you until tonight though.” He admits sheepishly. She glances at him, out of the corner of her eye and something in her look has him nervous and fidgety.

In all honesty, he knows this surprise is pathetic. So he bought a ladder and put a picnic blanket on a roof for her, big deal. But he does not know what else he can do for her- even though they resolved to start over, he has been haunted by thoughts of all previous interactions with her throughout the day. Moments when he overlooked her feelings or missed a cue she was giving him. He now knows the way her eyes goes slightly wide and glassy when she is stressed or on the verge of tears, a look which he can recall seeing several times but had been unable to interpret before her breakdown today. He knows why she had so desperately wanted the crown despite seemingly having no ambitions or greed. He knows why she stuck with him despite humiliation and disappointment and countless misunderstandings. It’s like he had been staring at a puzzle with a missing piece and unable to see the whole picture. That piece has clicked into place now, and what he sees of the whole picture of Marinette has his heart aching. She had been hurting, so badly and for so long, and he has only just found out today. No picnic blankets and nice view will fix that.

“I was wrong about you.” Marinette says suddenly, and it startles him. She says it over the brim of her glass, pressing it to her lips. “I feel a bit silly how wrong I was.”

He tilts his head, smiling slightly.

“What were you wrong about?” He asks, intrigued. As far as he knows, she has been painfully right about him- inconsistent and unsupportive. That was what he had been up to this point.

“I thought you were putting on an act, to be honest.” She admits. “You’d be so nice and charming one moment, and then the next I’d find you in the arms of another woman, or you’d avoid me, or ignore me or one of your friends would try and humiliate me.”

“Most of those things were misunderstandings.” He protests, flushing, and she ducks her head, chastised.

“I know.” She admits. “What about the woman who threw wine on me? If there’s nothing between you and Lila, do you have any history with her?”

“Chloe?” He blurts, unable to keep the disgust from his voice. He loves Chloe, he really does, but the thought of marrying her is about as appealing as stripping down to the nude, rolling in pigs faeces and then doing a speech in front of the whole kingdom on live broadcast. “Definitely not. She’s just an old friend with a lot of misplaced anger.”

Marinette laughs, amused at his vehemence, and she leans over to pluck a strawberry off the plate of food in front of her. She holds it delicately to her lips and begins to nibble at it in a strange, squirrel-like manner, and the sight of her eating the strawberry in such an oddly endearing way has his heart warming with an unexpected fondness. Her wedding ring catches the meagre light offered by the lamp he set beside them, and his gaze flicks to it, transfixed.

“Another misunderstanding.” She comments. She leans back, reclining against the roof and stretching her legs out ahead of her. She drops her head back so that she can gaze upwards at the stars. “We’ve been married almost a month and I only found out what sort of person you are today.”

“We do seem to have the order quite backwards.” He observes, shifting so that he mirrors her position. “Most people find out what their spouse is like _before_ the wedding.”

She laughs, light and free. She then turns her gaze on him.

“Adrien.” She says slowly. “Thank you.” She says, the words exhaled in an almost pained breath. To his alarm, he notices her eyes are glinting slightly with unshed tears. She squeezes her eyes shut. “I feel like I’ve been living a nightmare, these past few months, that I can’t seem to wake up from.” She admits, and his eyebrows knit together, feeling an ache of sympathy, deep in his chest. “This morning… when you cried for me,” She says hesitantly, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt before she finds the courage to look at him. “I finally felt like I wasn’t alone, for the first time in almost a year. So thank you.”

Adrien is momentarily speechless, struck by the sincerity and warmth in her tone. The smile that follows her words is warm and he feels a billowing, joyful sensation spread from the top of his head to the tips of his toes when he sees it. He is suddenly struck by the impression that this is who Marinette is. Under the stress and exhaustion and misery that has plagued her since before they even met, this warm, sincere, selfless person has been struggling, crushed under the weight of her worries. Suddenly all her hesitance, all her apprehensions about him and reluctance to open up have crumbled away now that he knows what put them there in the first place, and the person he sees is someone he likes. Someone he wants to get to know. Someone he thinks could be his friend and maybe even one day be his real wife.

His response slips out, overflowing with warmth and the sensation that today marks the start of something new between them, something exciting that he has a feeling will only continue to grow going forward.

“I hope you won’t feel that way anymore.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright! A note on updates: This was the last of my pre-written chapters :( I've nearly finished the next chapter but I'm not sure if I'll get it finished by next Tuesday. I'll definitely try my best, but unfortunately, from this point on, updates will be a little more sporadic.  
> Come hang with me on tumblr if you get lonely :D


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congrats to me for managing to get this chapter out in time. Feel grateful! Haha, just kidding, but I did it! Here's chapter 6!!

**Chapter 6: There's bound to be some communication**

* * *

 

There is something lizard-like in Chloe Bourgeois’ eyes as she squints at Marinette across the table. She has selected one of the most lavish, exclusive restaurants in the kingdom for a simple lunch meeting, perhaps to prove something. She has been nothing but sweet as sugar to Adrien, but every address to Marinette seems like her tongue has been dipped in sour vinegar. Marinette can feel it. Adrien can see it. No one is blind to the tension that hovers in the air, and Marinette endures it only as a favour to Adrien. Upon learning her impression of him as a cheating playboy, Adrien had been quick and desperate to organize this luncheon.

“So,” Marinette begins slowly in a meagre attempt to dispel the tension in the air. “How did you and Adrien meet?”

“When we were children.” Chloe responds with distaste heavy in her tone. “As you may have heard, I’m the prime minister’s daughter, and that gives you certain connections growing up.”

She shoots Adrien a look that Marinette is not certain how to interpret because her face seems to be eternally frozen in a sour expression, but it looks like she’s glaring at him. It certainly makes Adrien more fidgety.

“So you grew up together then?” She inquires, trying to ignore it. She is not sure what Adrien wants her to take away from this- she had only agreed because he had been so distressed about the nature of her misunderstanding. Adrien nods.

“We did- we’re like brother and sister!” He says, with a forced, uncomfortable laugh. “We even fought like siblings- she’d pull my hair when I broke her dolls.”

“Enough about us though,” Chloe says dismissively, leaning forward to eye Marinette like a piece of prey she has just cornered. “Tell me more about _you_ , Marinette.”

There is something derisive and threatening in Chloe’s tone, and from the way she watches Marinette, something clicks into place- she’s sizing her up. This almost feels like a job interview, and Chloe is testing her. Squaring her shoulders in response to the realisation, she begins to stare Chloe down as well.

“What would you like to know?” She answers evenly. Chloe tilts her head, squinting slightly.

“Why did you marry Adrien?” She asks. She stares at Marinette easily. “If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have.”

Marinette feels Adrien tense beside her, and he cuts in before she can respond.

“Chloe,” He says, surprisingly firmly considering he had been so meek and flustered prior to this point. “That’s enough. Don’t make her uncomfortable.”

Marinette is surprised. She is not grateful- Chloe is well within her rights to ask such a question, but she is relieved and the feeling spreads through her warmly.

Things had changed between her and Adrien after their fight. Upon learning about Marinette’s personal struggles, Adrien had been attentive and kind- almost _too_ kind. But it isn’t just their behaviour that has changed- there is a certain air of familiarity and warmth that wasn’t there before. She feels like she _gets_ Adrien, now that all the layers of misconception have been stripped back. Before, he was a confusing mess of contradictions and she couldn’t figure out what was authentic and what wasn’t. Now she _knows_ though.

“It’s ok Adrien.” Marinette reassures him with a tentative smile. The tension droops from his shoulders, but he still eyes her with concern. She turns her gaze to Chloe, aware that he continues to watch her with barely concealed unease. “I assure you, Chloe, that were you in my position, you most certainly would have.”

Interest sparks in Chloe’s eyes, and she rests her chin in the palm of her hand.

“Oh?” Chloe responds. “Is that so? And what is this position you speak of?”

Marinette grits her teeth.

“I needed the money.” She admits, slightly ashamed now that she hears it aloud. It sounds like such a dirty motive.

To her surprise, rather than look disgusted or irritated, Chloe grins wide, her eyes sharp and almost impressed.

“Hm, for a second I thought you would try and feed me some rubbish about his looks or his personality,” Chloe responds. “I like that you’re honest.”

Marinette blinks a few times in surprise before smiling hesitantly at Chloe. At this, the grin drops from her face, and she looks disgusted with herself, rolling her eyes.

“Ugh, fine.” She exclaims suddenly. “Fine, you were right Adrien, she’s not _terrible_. I’ll cancel my plans to ruin her life.”

Adrien begins to protest at the same time that Marinette sputters in indignance.

“Ruin my life-“

“I said she was great, not ‘not terrible’-“

They both pause at their outbursts and meet each other’s eyes in confusion. To Marinette’s great surprise, Adrien begins to laugh earnestly. It is nothing like the forced, uncomfortable laugh earlier- it is warm and full and Marinette is abruptly reminded of why she agreed to come to this lunch.

She had been wrong. Completely and entirely wrong about Adrien and had let all her fears and insecurities and frustrations build up and she had taken it out on him. It isn’t fair to him, and, perhaps for the first time, she genuinely wants to see him as more than a necessary evil in the path to saving her father. The commitment she has made is a life long one, and for the first time since she signed her life away, she is starting to think that maybe it _wasn’t_ the biggest mistake of her life. If Adrien’s good features could shine through enough to have her confused even while thinking he was a lying, two-faced cheater, then she wants to know who Adrien is with the veil of her misconceptions lifted. She wants to know who her husband is, and that thought has her laughing along with him, even if she is not sure why they are laughing.

Chloe looks vaguely nauseated at the site and begins to pick idly at her perfectly manicured nails. In that moment, Adrien’s phone begins to ring, and he pauses his mirth to smile apologetically and step away to answer the call.

Chloe looks like she has been waiting the whole luncheon for this opportunity because she leans eagerly forward as soon as Adrien is out of earshot.

“I heard I wasn’t the only one you thought Adrien had a thing with.” She exclaims and Marinette is taken aback. She can’t quite read the expression on Chloe’s face, but it is close to anger and disgust. “I can handle you misunderstanding our relationship, because, well, we are _super close_ and it would be super cute if we were to date cause of the whole childhood friends thing and the fact that we are both super hot, but not her. You’re not allowed to think there’s something there after what she did to him. I can’t forgive that, or allow it to continue, so I’ll do you one favour and then I’ll never be nice to you again for the rest of my life.”

Marinette pauses in confusion.

“You mean Lila?” She asks, trying to puzzle through what it is Chloe is trying to say. Chloe’s lip curls in distaste.

“Please, don’t say her name in front of me.” Chloe snaps. Marinette pauses, leaning away from Chloe.

“What did she do to him?” Marinette inquires, and Chloe leans forward conspiratorially, glancing to where Adrien’s back is still turned, out of earshot.

“He’ll kill me if I tell you, but whatever. She deserves to get the news of how awful she is spread around. I _hate_ her.” Chloe says. “I’ll even ignore my instinctive dislike of you if it means you’ll hate her too. In fact, if you promise to hate her I’ll actually consider you a friend.”

“I’m not sure I _want_ you to consider me a friend,” Marinette protests, but Chloe continues as if Marinette didn’t interject.

“Do you want to know or not?” Chloe asks. Marinette hesitates, just the slightest bit- it is not her place to know, particularly if Adrien does not want this information disclosed, but she’s just so _curious_.

“I want to know.” She says, though the words are sour and unpleasant in her mouth due to the knowledge that she is violating Adrien’s privacy.

“That woman grew up with Adrien too.” Chloe begins, furtively glancing at Adrien every few moments to ensure he isn’t listening in. “Separate to me. She was an orphan in a program that his mother volunteered with, so they got to know each other through that. She was _super_ keen on him for most of their lives, but he never really picked up on it or reciprocated. She couldn’t take the hint though.”

This news doesn’t surprise Marinette- the whole reason she had misunderstood their dynamic in the first place was because she could see the desperation and love shining in Lila’s eyes every time. She had tried not to feel uncomfortable or irritated, but she is unfortunately not a big enough person to quell the distaste that rises in her like a wave.

“And Adrien, being the sweet-natured, oblivious boy that he is, never did notice. At least not until Lila decided to take matters into her own hands last year. Adrien’s father would _never_ let anything happen between them, but she was too stubborn to let that stop her.” Chloe explains. “That lying snake pretended she had found her birth parents, and convinced Adrien to come with her to meet them. And since he is gullible to the point of stupidity, he agreed. Only, she sent a message to his father telling them that they were eloping and was going to release it to the press as well, in the hope that he’d have to marry her to quell the scandal.”

Marinette grimaces, the sheer amount of manipulation and plotting needed to execute a plan like that makes her slightly queasy.

“They managed to stop it going to the press, but that’s only because bigger news broke- the Queen had collapsed due to complications with her illness. And of course, Adrien was oblivious the whole time and that woman made sure it stayed that way, but eventually she came clean. He lost his chance to say goodbye to his mother because she died before he could get back to the hospital. Naturally, his father was furious, and Adrien bore the brunt of it. The only good thing that came of it was that she was forbidden from ever seeing him again.” Chloe’s fists are clenched to the point they have gone white and her manicured nails dig into her palms. Her voice quakes with a quiet, restrained anger, and the intensity of the fury and pain in her eyes is a little scary. Marinette is speechless. “He loves his mother like you wouldn’t believe, and she took his last chance to see her away from him because she seemed to think her feelings were more important than his relationship with his mother. I’ll never forgive her, and as much as I’d love for you marriage to break down, you can’t think that there’s anything between them, or I’ll _kill_ you.”

In her anger, Chloe has forgotten to keep an eye on Adrien, and he approaches the table. At her words, he starts, looking in surprise from Chloe to Marinette, and takes in their expressions.

“You told her.” He says softly, sounding hurt. Chloe’s eyes widen, looking briefly regretful.

“Adrien! I-“ She begins, but Adrien cuts her off.

“It’s ok, you don’t have to make an excuse. It’s probably better you told her. I don’t think I’d have been able to do it myself.” The pitiful smile he sends her suggests it is anything ok, and Chloe clamps her mouth shut. Adrien avoids Marinette’s gaze as he reseats himself.

“Adrien,” Chloe begins again, clearly picking up that he’s upset, as he picks idly at his food and does not say anything. It is like all the nervous energy from before has been sapped from him.

“Chloe, it’s fine.” He says, not quite snapping at her, but with a definite hurt edge. When Chloe continues to stare, Adrien sighs, setting down his cutlery. He directs his gaze downward for a moment before slowly raising it once more. “Her anniversary is coming up.” His admission is choked. “It’s not that I was keeping it secret or anything… I just couldn’t bring myself to say it out loud.”

Marinette feels her heart break at his confession, and he smiles weakly at her.

“It’s ok. I’ll be fine. Anyway, not to cut our lunch short, but that phonecall was actually me getting called to a meeting once I finish lunch.” He says. “So we have to get going Marinette.”

“But it’s your day off!” Marinette protests. Adrien smiles wryly.

“You don’t really get ‘days off’ when you’re running a country. Come on,” He says.

Marinette is given no room to protest and has no desire to stay with Chloe so she follows obediently.

++

For some reason, of all the things she learnt about Adrien during lunch with Chloe, the fact that he hasn’t had a day off in a very long time seems to stick with her. Particularly now that knows that his mother’s anniversary is coming up and she can see the strain it takes on him in the purplish bruises that linger under his eyes and the way he seems to stumble into the mansion after a long day out. She keeps finding him sleeping in odd places, and knows that he needs a day off, as reluctant as his advisor seems to be to give him one. Finally, when he all but collapses into his coffee mug and burns himself and ruins an expensive designer shirt when he spills it, Marinette decides it is time to take matters into her own hands.

News about the power couple of the year has slowed by now- enough time has passed since their wedding, and other celebrities have started to take the spotlight, and Marinette has not been seen with Adrien in public since his princely duties have started to increase as of late. She just wants to see him well-rested for a reason she can’t quite explain. But with their dip in popularity, it makes it surprisingly easy to convince Nathalie that being caught out in public on a ‘date’ would be beneficial to the crown and to the image their marriage is supposed to project. She recruits Alya too, who is thrilled to get first dibs on a juicy bit of gossip like snaps of the famous royal couple out on a date. She chooses Alya because she knows that their ‘date’ will make news without actually having to compromise their privacy or enjoyment of a day out. Adrien may not even want to spend his day off out or even with her, so she wants him the freedom of choosing, without Nathalie getting suspicious that she’s allowed the prince to waste the day on something unnecessary like resting.

For some reason that she’s not sure of, she’s excited to surprise him with a day off. She pictures his laughter, carefree and genuine, and she pictures his smile, always warm when directed at her, and she pictures the gentle expression on his face when he had directed her to the rooftop that day, and she is just possessed with this strong desire to make him _happy_. It’s not like she likes him, or anything extreme like that. It’s just… he had cried for her. Real, genuine tears had streamed down his face when he learnt of what she had been through and he had felt such compassion for her that he had _cried_. He was such a warm, empathetic person that even just hearing about someone else’s hardships was enough to bring him to tears. And all she had done for him up until that point was make wrong assumptions about him and make him feel guilty for things that weren’t even his fault. She doesn’t want that to be what their relationship is anymore. She wants it to be a happy one.

So when the day finally arrives and Adrien makes his way into the dining area, half-dead and looking around for coffee and some sort of sustenance, Marinette is practically buzzing with excitement. Adrien pauses when he sees her, dressed to the nines and beaming, and he smiles weakly.

“Good morning.” He says, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “You seem chipper this morning.”

“I have a surprise.” Is her eager response.

“What?” He responds, curious, and reaching for the coffee mug their cook had left for him when they prepared breakfast.

“Well, I just noticed you’ve been very tired recently, and haven’t really had a day off, so I talked to a few people, and managed to convince them to give you the day off to spend with me!” She explains. At his stunned expression, a little bit of self-consciousness begins to sneak in. “Not that you have to spend the day off with me- it’s just, the only way I could convince Nathalie to give you some time off was to pretend that we were going on a date for publicity. So as long as you take some pictures with me in the morning for an article, you can spend the day however you want!” She says, glancing away to conceal the flush that creeps into her cheeks. Adrien continues to stare at her oddly, still a little groggy and trying to puzzle out her words.

Gradually, his does begin to comprehend, and the resulting smile he sends her has Marinette feeling slightly short of breath.

“Thank you.” He says, genuinely. “I’d love to spend the day with you.”

Marinette tries to conceal her smile, glancing down at her feet and fiddling with the ends of her hair.

“Anytime.” She says. It takes her a moment, but she gains the courage to glance up at him and meet his gaze. “Was there anything you wanted to do? It’s not often you get a day off, so I thought I’d let you decide how you wanted to spend it.”

Adrien takes a long, contemplative sip of his coffee as he deliberates.

“There is one thing that I’ve always wanted to do.” He admits. “But its not really a go-by-yourself sort of place so I’ve never been brave enough to try it out. Marinette’s curiosity is piqued.

“And what’s that?” She asks. He smiles awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck in discomfort.

“Well, there’s this amusement park just on the outskirts of the capital. I’ve been there once when I was quite small and it had just opened, but haven’t been able to go since. I’ve always thought it looked like fun, but my father is against the idea of me having fun, y’know?”

Marinette laughs slightly and smiles sympathetically.

“Well then, I guess we have to go!” She says. “But first we need to meet Alya at a café near here so she can take some pictures to publish with her article.”

Adrien nods obediently. He stops to change before they leave-

The pictures are easy enough to take- Alya has them pose like they are enjoying morning tea at a quiet café, while she takes pictures from a distance away, to make them look more ‘candid’. They don’t take long since she doesn’t need many. It is surprisingly easy to pretend like it is a real date, laughing at Adrien’s jokes and doing affectionate, couple-y things like holding his hands across the table while Alya takes photos. Marinette’s smile as she meets his gaze is genuine.

“These are great.” Alya comments as she looks through the pictures. “I’m glad you guys sorted things out.”

Adrien looks surprised, and Marinette flushes.

“Alya met me on the day we had the dress fitting.” She admits as an explanation, and Adrien flushes bright red.

“Oh!” He exclaims. He glances at Alya, panicked, but she waves him off.

“Don’t stress. I know the whole wine thing was an accident- Marinette rang me up later to explain. She told me how your friend spilled wine on her and you had a fight over it.” She tells him. “I do have a question, though.” Her eyes glint with eagerness- Marinette can see the reporter in her itching for a scoop, and gently reaches forward to squeeze Adrien’s hand in warning. “Why do you need to take photos for your date? Why the publicity stunt?”

Marinette laughs it off.

“Well, its not secret the public loves us, and the only way we could convince our advisor to give us the day off was to make it beneficial to all parties involved.” She admits. Alya laughs.

“I like that, using the press to go on a date.” She says. “Well, I won’t keep you then- enjoy yourselves! Make sure to ring me next time you have any news to offer.”

With that, they farewell Alya. Marinette reaches into her bag and pulls out two pairs of sunglasses and large hats- a wide-brimmed sunhat for her and a baseball cap for Adrien.

“We can’t just waltz into an amusement park and have a peaceful day off without a disguise.” She explains. Adrien accepts it gratefully while she books tickets on her phone. He still looks abnormally handsome, even with the upper half of his face concealed, but it is sufficient enough to hide his true identity. She adjusts her hair, tucking it into her hat and slipping on the sunglasses. She offers him a smile as their driver pulls away from the kerb and begins the journey to the amusement park.

“Have you ever been to an amusement park before?” Adrien asks, as the city zips past them through the car window. Marinette ponders.

“A few times. I went once or twice with my family when I was younger, and my friends and I once went on a trip while I was getting my degree.” She says. “It was pretty fun, and there was lots to do. I haven’t been in ages- we haven’t exactly been able to afford park tickets.”

Adrien nods in understanding.

“Then this will be a great experience for both of us.” He says.

The conversation is surprisingly easy and fun all the way to the entrance of the amusement park. Adrien’s excitement is infectious, and Marinette finds herself buzzing with eagerness by the time they reach the towering entrance.

There are larger and better amusement parks around the kingdoms- there is a large on in her home kingdom that is famous worldwide, and this one by comparison is tiny. But it is still charming and filled with an atmosphere of smiling and laughter. Charming music blasts from speakers that gets louder as they approach the park entrance, interspersed with safety anouncements and reminders to watch their personal belongings. There are a lot of young families, but also lots of couples and groups of people in varying ages.

No one takes notice of them, another anonymous couple enjoying the sunny, warm day at the amusement park. A black cat mascot, the symbol of their kingdom and one of the mascots for this park, comes running over, shaking their hands enthusiastically before running off to the next group and Marinette turns to Adrien to find him beaming with excitement.

“I’ve always wanted to buy the hats.” Adrien admits. “The ones with the little cat ears on them? I’ve seen a few children running around with them and thought they were cute.”

Marinette laughs slightly at the image of Adrien in a beanie with black cat ears, and begins to glance around, looking for a stall.

“We’ll both get the ears- I’ll get the red cat ears and you can get the black ones.” She says, spotting a stall and leading Adrien towards it. She begins to scan through the merch until she finds what she’s looking for- a matching pair of hats, one black snapback and one red one, both with charming, triangular cat ears protruding from the main body of the cap. Adrien swaps his cap for the snapback while Marinette pays, and then she too exchanges her hat for the snapback, shoving the widebrim hat she had previously been sporting into her backpack.

“It looks good!” Adrien says with a compliment, and Marinette laughs lightly.

“Black suits you.” Is her response. “Not many people can pull off black cat ears.”

He laughs.

“A black cat is our national animal! You’d think the prince of the Noir Kingdom would be able to pull off black cat ears. That and butterflies- I look great in butterfly wings.” This cracks Marinette up, particularly when he strikes a pose, flapping his arms like wings.

The park isn’t particularly big, only one or two rollercoasters, so they head to the larger of the two first, at Adrien’s request. Marinette is surprised, particularly when she learns that Adrien has never been on one before.

“I was too short to go on the rollercoaster last time I came here.” He informs her, adjusting his shades as he glances up to eye the rollercoaster tracks. She can’t see his whole expression but judging from the nervous bob of his adam’s apple, he is more apprehensive than he lets on.

The apprehension is well deserved, as it turns out, because Adrien stumbles off the roller coaster looking distinctly green. He stumbles to the nearest trash can, and to her great disbelief, Marinette finds herself soothingly patting his back as he empties the contents of his stomach.

“I’m so sorry!” He gasps between retches, looking distinctly miserable, and in amidst the mild disgust she feels as he pours his breakfast into the garbage bin, there is an odd wave of fondness that she doesn’t expect to feel. Eventually his stomach calms and he staggers to his feet. It is while he is in the bathroom rinsing his mouth and Marinette gazes at the amusement park map that it strikes her so suddenly that she nearly drops the map.

Her husband… is kind of… just a little… just a tiny tiny bit endearing. Just a little. Enough to make her heart flutter. Enough to keep the smile on her face for the rest of the day as they explore the park. And just enough that she quietly hopes, in a small part of her that will never see the light of day, that this day won’t come to an end.

++

On the other end of the line, Marinette’s mother’s voice is tentative. They have not spoken properly since the surgery got cancelled, and she had ignored all Marinette’s calls. Marinette thinks she understands- after the crushing disappointment of their hopes, her mother probably couldn’t bring herself to face her daughter. She probably even found a way to blame herself.

But enough time has passed for her mother to speak with her again, and Marinette received the phone call in the car ride home. To her side, Adrien’s head lulls down as he snores softly.

“How’s dad?” Marinette asks softly, almost in a whisper.

“He’s fine. They started him on some strong painkillers that make him a little drowsy, so he’s been in and out the past week.” Her mother answers in a small voice that makes Marinette’s heart ache. “He asked about you earlier today though… I think he wants to meet your husband.”

Marinette’s jaw clenches just the slightest bit as she glances to where Adrien dozes. With his face relaxed and hair hanging into his face, still wearing the silly cat ear snapback, she can appreciate the strong cut of his jaw and the straightness of his nose and the length of his eyelashes. Something in her chest that feels warm and pleasant but also painful blooms as she looks at him. She glances away and clears her throat awkwardly.

“He’s a pretty busy man.” Marinette admits. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to.”

“That’s fine.” Her mother admits softly. “I just thought it’d be nice, for him to see what kind of man he is, just in case…” Her voice cracks and she cannot finish the sentence.

“Don’t say that!” Marinette exclaims back, loud enough that Adrien begins to stir. He doesn’t wake, but his head does flop sideways, lolling onto her shoulder. Marinette stiffens. The cat ears tickle her cheek and the snapback obscures his face, but the weight of his shoulder is pleasant and warm and at this proximity she can smell his cologne. She continues her statement, but softer this time, reluctant to wake Adrien. “I’ll try my best and speak to him, but please, don’t even finish the thought that’s in your head mum. Anyway, I have to go. I’ll speak to you later, alright?”

Her mum bids her goodbye, and Marinette is left to brood. She stares thoughtfully out the window.

“Are you ok?” She starts at the voice, and Adrien shifts, lifting his head off his shoulder. He rubs at his eyes in an almost childlike manner and blinks sleepily at her. She smiles, though it is strained. He stares at her for a  moment, groggy but still searching.

“You can talk to me, you know?” He says, his voice scratchy and drowsy. Marinette stares at him for a moment. She smiles again, but this time it is no longer strained.

“I know.” She says softly.

And so she does. For the rest of the car ride, all the way back to their manor on the other side of the city, they talk.

Marinette goes to bed that night feeling exhausted but also warm and satisfied, like she’s had the best day of her life in a long time.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok so I DEFINITELY won't have the next chapter out by next week. Just when things are getting good too :'( Come hang with me on tumblr at the-protractor and shoot me a message to know how the chapters going if the wait gets too long haha!
> 
> Thank you all for your love so far- particularly those reviewers. I've noticed some of you guys are regulars, you're my favs ;)! But yes, please come hang with me and talk to me!!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is rushed and unedited but I think you guys have waited long enough, don't you? Enjoy ;)

**Chapter 7: There's bound to be... some feelings D:**

* * *

 

The week following Adrien and Marinette’s amusement park outing is slow and tortuous for Adrien. Perhaps it is because he had missed out on a lot of meetings and paperwork by taking the day off, but his workload is nearly doubled and he finds himself either in meetings, preparing for meetings, reading briefings, doing research for government proposals and projects from early in the morning when it is still dark to well into the night. Still, he cannot bring himself to regret taking the day off, and he finds his mind drifting back to the memory of the day when he lets his guard down.

The black snapback he bought on the day hangs on a hook in his study, and he finds himself staring at it between skype meetings on this particular day. He is surprised by the odd ache in his chest that he feels as he gazes at it. It’s not that the hat makes him particularly emotional or anything absurd like that. It’s just that… he hasn’t seen Marinette in nearly a full week. She has been almost as swamped as he is as her coronation looms closer, filled with meetings with diplomats, lessons, preparations. She has hardly been at home and he has practically been confined to his study for nearly a week now.

It’s almost like they’ve gone back to before, where she would sneak around the house to avoid him and he would feel strangely disappointed when he came home to a dining table with a meal set on it but no one to accompany him. He… wants to see her. So badly it scares him because he should not be feeling a longing this intense for someone who has just barely started to consider him a friend.

He is distracted from his disconcerting thoughts by his phone ringing- the caller ID reads ‘bad news probably’ and an image of a displeased Nathalie glares up at him from the screen. Reluctantly, he answers it, because he has been waiting for this call all week.

“Your highness,” sounds Nathalie’s chilled voice on the other side of the line. When he was younger, Adrien had thought Nathalie to be a robot, built purely to keep his father’s affairs in order. Now that he is older, he still thinks her to be a robot but is not silly enough to voice his theories aloud. “You requested that I call with the outcome of my discussions with your father.” She informs him.

Suddenly his mouth is dry, and nerves that he has managed to stave off with business and thoughts of Marinette plague him in full force. He leans forward, pressing his weight into his elbows in an attempt to still the sudden tremor in his hands.

“I did.” He says, proud that he manages to keep his tone even and professional when addressing Nathalie. “And the outcome?”

There is a beat of silence on the other line. Nathalie hesitates to respond, and so for a moment Adrien worries that her programming has malfunctioned.

“He refused.” Nathalie says. Her voice is clipped and robotic as always, but if he listens very hard past the sudden roaring in his ears, there is something that may resemble sympathy in her tone. “I’m very sorry Adrien, I know this was important to you.”

Adrien can count on one hand the number of times Nathalie has referred to him as something other than his royal title requires. It always accompanies bad news and this is no exception.

“How can he refuse?” Adrien asks, and this time he is not able to keep the crack out of his voice. He clenches his fists, trying to keep his breathing even as the tremors in his hands worsen. “It’s her one year anniversary. Does he want to act like she never existed?”

“I do not pretend to understand your father in any capacity, Adrien,” Nathalie begins, “But I imagine if you paused for a moment and tried to sympathise with him, you may realise that this is his way of coping.”

Adrien rarely gets angry, and is often complimented on his gentle temperament and cool head, but Nathalie’s words generate such a thick and ugly rage that he pelts his phone across the room. The screen cracks on impact and the phone slides down the wall, glinting sadly back at him. He instantly regrets his actions as the screen blinks black to signal Nathalie has hung up.

He slumps back into his seat and buries his head in his arms, just focusing on trying to breath evenly for a moment and not let his inhales escalate into choked sobs.

When that fails, he gets to his feet, deciding that finishing the information pack from the Minister of Town Planning and Environmental Management can wait. A warm drink and something sweet is what he needs. He grabs his now-cracked phone and wonders out of his study.

The corridor outside his study is very open, filled with windows that allow the warm sunlight to peek in and warm the area. He closes his eyes and he passes through, allowing the warmth to sink into his skin. He didn’t realise how cold he felt until he felt the warm glow.

He does not know what he expected to see upon entering the kitchen, particularly since he did not know Marinette was home and as far as he knew the kitchen staff didn’t come in to start preparing dinner until closer to 3 o’clock and it is currently just past lunch time.

So when he enters the kitchen only to hear a sudden, startled screech and finds himself engulfed in an explosive cloud of white, he is understandably taken aback. He coughs, blinking wildly as he registers that he is currently involved in the flour explosion of the century. Is he dead? He’s not sure. It takes a few moments of hacking his lungs out and trying to clear the flour from his eyes for the dust to settle before Marinette appears before him, completely white. He imagines he looks similarly coated in flour.

For a moment they just blink stupidly at each other- Marinette still grips the exploded and now empty bag of flour in her hands and the flour begins to settle in soft white piles across the previously pristine kitchen tiles.

He can’t help it then- the startled look on her face, the way she blinks her huge blue eyes at him and flour clings to her lashes and coats her face, and just the sheer relief of seeing her again after a whole week just gets to him. He cracks up, crumpling to the ground with the sheer force of his laughter.

When he finally calms down enough and wipes the tears that have pooled at the corner of his eyes, Marinette glares at him, still coated head to toe in flour. Her arms are crossed and she looks unimpressed.

“Are you done yet?” She asks, clearly offended by his laughter. He feels a brief flash of guilt, but it is mixed with amusement and a fondness so fierce it nearly knocks him off his feet.

“Almost.” He responds, getting to his feet and approaching her. When she does not move or flinch away, he takes that as his invitation to begin dusting the flour out of her hair and off her shoulders. “What were you doing?”

There is a short moment, where she blinks up at him with flour-y lashes and her cheeks slightly flushed behind the thin coat of white, that his lungs constrict and he is overwhelmed by the endearing expression on her face. He steps away and begins to look around, taking in the mixing bowls, the flour, the baking trays, trying to ease the tension from his lungs.

“Well,” She begins as he picks up a bowl of some sort of sweet-smelling batter to examine it. “There’s this holiday, back home, in my kingdom,” She begins. “And there’s this tradition, where we make these little sticky honey cakes.”

Adrien blinks, turning back to her once the odd breathlessness has passed. He leans against the counter, and her gaze is focused at a point just over his shoulder, like she’s avoiding eye contact.

“I couldn’t make it back home in time, because I have coronation rehearsals all day tomorrow, so I thought I’d try and make some anyway…” She trails away, and Adrien feels his expression soften. “Anyway, I better start cleaning up-“

“I’ll help.” Adrien says quickly, cutting her off. “Let’s make them together.”

Marinette gapes at him, her mouth dropping open, before her face turns bright red. Then she offers this tentative smile that probably shaves ten years off his lifespan with the way it messes with his heartbeat.

Thus begins the process of cleaning and baking and laughing together, and Adrien begins to feel a stiffness and tension he had been holding into to his muscles unwind. Like Marinette has lifted a weight off his shoulder just with her presence and smile and big blue eyes. It is truly a wonder to see her in her element- apart from the flour mishap which had occurred because he had startled her, she is at home in the kitchen since her parents were bakers. She works batter like a pro and moves with an ease and comfort that Adrien can’t help but admire.

She is sharper than he realises though.

“Are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” She questions as she carefully folds honey through the batter. Adrien pauses where he is washing strawberries.

“You noticed, huh?” He says quietly, and he feels the weight of her sharp gaze on his back.

He feels a warm touch on his shoulder, and flinches, turning to find Marinette far closer than he had realised. She examines his expression in that searching way she does, like she is trying to find something in his gaze, and her eyes soften just the slightest bit.

“Adrien,” She says, softly, gently. “Talk to me.”

He glances down, unable to deal with the weight of that gentle, expectant gaze a moment longer.

She reaches forward and turns off the tap, taking the bowl of strawberries in his hands and setting it down on the counter. Then she leans against it and she just… waits. Just watches him, not in a forceful way but in a way that lets him know he’s probably going to have to tell her.

“My mother… her anniversary is coming up.” He admits. She nods, her gaze softening. “And I wanted to hold a memorial or something, but my father… He refused.”

Silence follows and when he gathers the courage to shoot a tentative look at Marinette’s face, she has the most heartbreaking look in her eyes and it makes him feel like there is a stone lodged at the back of his throat.

“Adrien,” She says slowly. He breathes out a laugh that sounds painful and doesn’t hold an ounce of humour in it.

“It’s fine. _I’m_ fine.” He says firmly. She does look convinced and opens her mouth, but he cuts her off. “Let’s just finish this Marinette. Don’t stress about it- I’ve dealt with worse.”

“No, don’t be silly! This is a big deal- maybe we should try talking to him again?” She protests. Adrien is quick to shoot her down.

“You don’t know him, Marinette- he’ll be rude and cold and then kick us out. He’s incapable of listening.” He says, surprised at how much bitterness leeches into his tone. Marinette looks taken aback as well, and she looks like she’s choosing her next words carefully.

“Why don’t we-“ She begins, but Adrien cuts her off.

“Forget it Marinette. It’s really not a big deal and I’m the stupid one for getting upset over it.” He says. She looks absolutely horrified.

“You’re not, Adrien-“ Is her attempt at a protest, but Adrien is unwilling to discuss the subject any further. It just hurts too much. Like he’s poking repeatedly at an opened wound- the conversation is done, finished, and telling Marinette won’t fix it and fighting it some more will just lead to more disappointment. It’s easier to just drop the matter and focus on finishing the stick honey cakes. That’s how he’s gotten by up until now and it’s how he’ll continue to get by because his father is incapable of thinking about what anyone wants but himself.

Marinette looks like she’s not finished, and her mouth opens, but she seems to think better of it, turning back to her mixing bowl. For the moment, it seems, she has dropped it.

++

If Adrien knew Marinette better, he would probably have figured out that she had _not_ in fact, dropped the matter. But the fact of the matter is he still does not know her as well as he would like, and so the matter has not actually been dropped. Perhaps he is just slow- he does not know how he has not picked up on her tenacity before now.

“She definitely walked into your father’s office.” Nino informs him, on the other side of the line. “She went in right as I came out.”

Nino’s last words are drowned out past the sudden roaring in Adrien’s ears. He does not recall hanging up or even what he does with his phone past this revelation from Nino. All he knows is that he _panics_. Marinette can _not_ speak to his father- he cannot even allow them to be the same room. Just the thought of Marinette, warm and happy and sweet, surrounded by the icy, mustiness of that stupid study and the scent of lilies anywhere near her skin makes him ill.

He has his driver reroute to the palace and messages Nathalie some rubbish excuse why he can’t meet with another puffed up diplomat from the Verde Kingdom. He then proceeded to repeatedly dial Marinette’s number, getting increasingly frustrated as he finds himself repeatedly not getting through.

His stomach churns. He knows what Marinette is trying to speak to his father about, and he knows her heart is in the right place. But if she speaks to his father, he’ll be rude to her, or accidentally expose how cold and heartless he really is. For some reason, the thought of Marinette knowing what his father is truly like, or even just enduring a fraction of the treatment Adrien has makes him feel like someone is peeling his very flesh away and exposing his bones for scrutiny. No, no, no, _no._ He has to stop Marinette.

The route to his father’s study is one he knows very well, but he has never approached without prior invitation or appointment. This is the first time he’s ever dared to sprint down the carpeted corridor- he’s always been tempted to tiptoe as though he will disturb the eerie stillness if his footsteps are too loud, but now he just carelessly legs it. He has never not knocked first, never been in a situation where the study may be empty. He has only ever entered this particular area of the palace on his father’s terms. Today though, he skids to stop before the heavy wooden door and wrenches it open with a strength that would have torn a lesser door straight off its hinges.

Marinette stands before his father, and he does not register the mood of the room. He doesn’t know what expression his father is wearing and cannot guess at what they may have been speaking about prior to his rude interruption. He just sees Marinette, standing awkwardly in the spot where he has been the recipient of so much cold, dismissive directives and suddenly he is grabbing her and pulling her towards him.

“I’m sorry for the interruption, Father, I just realised my wife and I have a prior appointment.” Is all the explanation he offers to his father before he is dragging Marinette out of the room, his grip tight on her wrist. For some reason she does not protest, just allows herself to be dragged.

He stops when he reaches what he deems to be a safe area- a corridor far from the reach of his father, before he drops her wrist like it has burned him. He sees the confusion in her wide blue eyes, and just _loses_ it.

“What were you _thinking_?” He exclaims. “Are you absolutely _mad_? How could you go to my _father!_ ”

Marinette looks taken aback, clearly not expecting his outburst.

“I was trying to help you!” She protests. “I couldn’t stand how miserable you looked, and you were just going to drop it!”

“You should have just let me!” He argues back, waving his arms around widely as his vision blurs with the sheer force of his anger and panic. “You don’t know him, Marinette, all you did by going to him was…. Was…”

He trails away, lost for words to describe why exactly he was so upset over this.

“Was _what_?” Marinette answers, her gaze fiery. “Adrien, I was trying to _help_. You’ve been walking around looking like a miserable _zombie_ , and you’ve barely been yourself all week and I just thought it wasn’t healthy! I’m your _wife_ , it’s my job to help you!”

“You’re not my real wife though!” He shouts back, but then Marinette’s jaw drops and she looks hurt. He instantly regrets his statement, but it’s too late to take it back. “Marinette,” He begins quickly, trying to remedy his hasty words, but she is quick to cut him off.

“No, no, you’re right. This isn’t a _real_ marriage. I just… overstepped. I’m sorry.” She says, and he feels like he has kicked her with the way her voice goes soft and crackly. “It wasn’t my business, I just thought that maybe…” She pauses. “You know what, it doesn’t matter what I thought. This matter wasn’t my business and I’m sorry for interfering. I’ll just be going, then.”

His protests fall on deaf ears, and she leaves him quickly. Suddenly he is alone in the corridor, and all the anger and hurt and misery and stress of the past hour crashes down on him, and coupled with the guilt from his outburst at Marinette, he crumples to the ground into a squat, running his hands through his hair.

He messed up.

++

Adrien spends the majority of the next day locked in his room. He tells Nathalie that he is very ill and demands that she cancel all his plans. He has never been one to dodge his responsibilities, and the fact that he does so for the second day in a row seems to be sufficient to convince Nathalie that he must be very ill indeed. Either way, with the promise of sending the royal doctor later in the day, she releases him from his commitments.

He spends most of the morning just staring up at the ceiling, in a state of stupor. One of the maids knocks on his door and leaves breakfast outside his room but he does not get up to fetch it. He just lies on his mattress, still as a log, and mopes. Marinette had left for a week long trip back to her kingdom for coronation preparations just that morning and he had not bothered to leave his room or bid her good-bye.

His words to Marinette are stuck on a loop in his mind. _You’re not my real wife._ The words are true. Their relationship is a farce, entirely fabricated and on barely-friendly terms at best. Yes, there was the amusement park date that seems like a faraway dream now, but prior to that their relationship was so up and down. Like a rollercoaster. Speaking one moment, avoiding each other the next. She’s not his wife- this is not a real marriage. This is a pathetic imitation by two desperate people trying to make the best of a hopeless situation.

So why does he feel so terrible? Marinette _was_ overstepping her bounds. She had been sticking her nose where it was unwelcomed and unwanted and all she was going to achieve was being enveloped in the perpetual tension that existed between Adrien and his father. But the way her face fell as he shouted the words… it _hurts_. Like someone is pressing a hot iron to his chest.

He rolls so that he rests on his side, curling his elbow beneath his head and pulling his knees up to his chest so he lies in a foetal position.

His moping is interrupted by a knock on his door. He sits up with a groan, padding over the door and hopes that he doesn’t look as much of a mess as he feels. He knows his hair is uncombed and he probably has a bit of morning stubble- the trashy magazines that declare him the kingdom’s most attractive man wouldn’t enjoy seeing him in such a state.

On the other side, a tall, stern man is waiting, dressed in a stiff white lab coat over a button up shirt and formal work pants. He peers down the end of a long, thin nose to regard Adrien. It is not often that Adrien finds himself gazing up at someone- being of a decent height himself, it is rare to meet someone to beat that. He knows his father dwarfs him, but he so often addresses Adrien from a seated position behind his desk that it is easy to forget his father’s true height.

“You must be Dr. Ramier.” Adrien greets politely, inclining his head slightly. The doctor responds with a deep, respectful bow.

“Your highness.” He responds, before straightening and adjusting his thin-fingered grip on the briefcase he holds at his side. “I was told you were feeling unwell and was given instructions to check in on you.”

He briefly scans his gaze over Adrien, no doubt taking in the dark circles, the messy hair, the pale skin. Even if he’s not _really_ sick, he certainly looks the part.

“Of course.” Adrien says, opening the door further to allow the doctor entrance. “Come in.”

Adrien takes a seat on his bed. While he is no stranger to housecall visits, he hasn’t had one in years- hasn’t taken a sick day in years. The doctor bustles around him, something about the thinness of his limbs making every movement seem uncoordinated and rambling.

“Are there any particular complaints you have?” Dr. Ramier inquires as he rummages through his briefcase, producing a stethoscope and thermometer. Adrien sighs his mind flickering to the look on Marinette’s face when he had shouted at her, the look of hurt that made his chest ache.

“Nowhere but here.” He says, smoothing his palm over his ribs. Dr Ramier’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Really?” He says, concern colouring his voice- if Adrien were less focused on Marinette he might have noticed it. Instead, he merely sighs, shaking his head to try and banish the image of Marinette’s wide, blue eyes darkened with the promise of tears.

“Metaphorically at least.” He mutters. Dr Ramier glares at him, before settling into perform a physical exam, carefully auscultating Adrien’s chest and taking his temperature. He shines a light into Adrien’s mouth, and checks his blood pressure.

“Well, you seem the picture of health.” Dr Ramier offers as he straightens. “I’m afraid I have no cure for heartache.” He supplies helpfully, before offering Adrien a hand to shake. Adrien accepts it, getting to his feet as Dr Ramier turns to leave. The doctor pauses before exiting the room one last time, pausing to glance over at Adrien.

“By the way.” He says. “You probably shouldn’t drink tea once its gone cold- it can irritate the lining of the stomach. You might want to call your maid to come and collect this.”

With that he takes his leave, leaving Adrien puzzled and confused until he glimpses the mug set on the ground beside the door frame. Padding over to the door, Adrien lifts the cup. He pauses to sniff it, taking in the pleasant scent. He knows the type of tea and the mug- both were keepsakes that Marinette had brought with her from home. He knows this because it is the same mug that Marinette seemed to leave outside his study whenever she thought he had been in there too long. The cup has long gone cold- he has no idea when she placed it there, but its meaning is clear as day.

An apology.

A wave of guilt threatens to overwhelm him as he sets the mug on his bedside table and falls backwards onto his bed. He probably has to speak to her he knows- he has to explain why he was upset and apologise for snapping at her. Marinette’s mistakes only came from Adrien’s refusal to open up and let her into the ugly parts of his life.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to open up to her, or that he doesn’t trust her. In fact, he probably trusts her far too much, considering the amount of time they have known each other. It is just that it is a terrifying thought. For Marinette to know all the ugliness of his relationship with his father, for her to know the parts of himself that he hates, for her to know of how he had timidly cowered in that sweet-smelling study for so many years, would be opening up a section for her in his heart. A section he’s not sure he could let her back out of. For so long, he hasn’t been able to rely on anyone- even Chloe, though she knows so much about him and his past, or Nino who is undeniably his best friend, do not know him in the way that Marinette would should he start to confide in her. He doesn’t think he has ever let anyone that close to him, save for his mother.

His brooding is interrupted by a phonecall. He still has not yet gotten his screen fixed, and slides his finger along the cracked glass.

“Your highness,” Nathalie says on the otherside of the line. If she weren’t a soulless robot, he may have thought she sounded happy, but he knows better by now.

“Nathalie.” He greets back. “How can I help you?”

“Well, your doctor has just informed me that you are in perfect health, so I have taken the liberty to re-schedule your afternoon appointments.”

Adrien is about to complain or protest, but she cuts him off.

“Now, I think I may have an idea of what drove you to such _drastic measures_ ,” She says, as if he had tried plunge the country into war rather than take a day off, “But I wanted to let you know that the issue has been resolved, hence why I re-scheduled those appointments.”

Adrien blinks a few times, confused.

“What issue?” He answers, a bit stupidly, and he hears Nathalie sigh on the other end of the line.

“Your wife spoke to your father about the memorial did she not?” She says, a hint of impatience creeping in. She probably was running low on charge and had to go plug herself in or something. “Well after their meeting, he decided that there would be a memorial held. He will not attend, but he is allowing you to hold one.”

Adrien’s breath catches abruptly in his throat, and for a minute he is shocked stupid. Did he hear correctly? Or did Nathalie’s hard-drive malfunction?

He is about to suggest a soft reset to fix the problem when Nathalie speaks once more.

“I am in the process of organizing the details and shall forward them on to you once I have more information. In the mean time, please ready yourself- the driver shall be there in an hour. I have sent your schedule for the afternoon through.”

The line goes dead on the other end, and his phone buzzes with a notification- sure enough Nathalie has emailed him a spreadsheet detailing the meetings and projects he has to complete by the end of the day.

Distracted, he lifts his gaze to where the mug sits on his bed side table. It is simple and childish- a cartoony black cat that is round and endearing sits upon a line of text that read “kit-tea cat”. Marinette had mentioned it had been a gift from a friend since she was moving to the black cat kingdom. But it had also been the mug she used every time she left the peace-offering outside his study, and he now notices the edge of a sticky note sticking out from beneath the mug that he had somehow missed in his moping before. Reaching for it, he lifts the cup to find a small sticky note stuck to the bottom that read “I’m sorry” in Marinette’s hurried scrawl.

He feels an odd choking feeling, like his heart is expanding in his chest and pressing on his throat. He  lets out a croaking chuckle, pressing the heels of his hand into his eyes.

He really needs to apologise.

++

Despite her incessant begging, Marinette’s grandfather is unable to alter her schedule. So she is unable to make the memorial for Adrien’s mother. He does it alone- she catches a glimpse of his speech on her phone on her way to sit in on the parliament that day. He looks so fragile yet so strong on the small screen of her phone, his eyes tight with pain but his tone unwavering and solid. It makes her heart ache, and she just wants to be there by his side so much it hurts.

The recollection of the last words they had exchanged with each other still rings in her ears if she allows herself to be idle even for a moment. She is not sure why she is so hurt by his words- had he been wrong, in pointing out the farce that was their marriage? Was it wrong of him to draw clear lines in the sand? _She_ had been the one to overstep, so why is _she_ so hurt by it?

Her flight back to the Noir Kingdom is at the end of the day, after a long day of watching politicians debate back and forth over mostly trivial issues. She finds herself unable to sleep on the flight home for some reason, probably due to the nerves that make her feel nauseous for the entire flight. Because Adrien is probably at the mansion now and returning means she will have to see him.

She is such a child, honestly- she does not even have the courage to apologise in person. Instead she chose to show her remorse in the most roundabout way possible- he’d probably just have missed the mug entirely and the maid would have cleared it away when she found it cooled on the ground by his bedroom door.

_You are a coward_. She scolds herself as she steps through the threshold into the mansion. Sighing at her incompetence, she checks the time on her phone and decides that now is as good a time as any for one of the honey cakes she had made the other week. The holiday has long since passed, and while she and Adrien did eat some at the time, they had sat unused in the fridge following their fight.

Miserably, Marinette dumps her bags just inside her doorway and trudges wearily towards the kitchen. It has been a long day, and a bit of sugar is what she needs before she crashes.

Perhaps she should have prepared an apology speech to Adrien because then maybe she wouldn’t have been as utterly dumbfounded as she is to find him in the kitchen, staring blankly at the kettle.

She registers two things very quickly- one, he has been crying, evidenced by the redness of his eyes and the fresh tearstains tracing the contours of his cheek, and two, she has missed him very, very much. Like a scary amount. An amount she didn’t even realise until he was standing before her, in person, real and tangible and possibly still upset with her.

“Adrien,” She exclaims, surprised. If Marinette had been surprised at his presence, it pales in comparison to her shock at his next actions.

The second Adrien’s gaze lands on her, he crosses their large an spacious in a few long strides, and before she can even say a word, he has her wrapped tightly in his arms.

“Adrien?” She questions, surprised and embarrassed, and alarmingly comfortable in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” He gasps, like she has punched the words out of him. He tucks his face into the crook between her neck and her shoulder and pulls her more tightly against him. To her great embarrassment, her face flares up a bright red like she is a lovestruck teenager, but then she remembers his words.

“ _You’re_ sorry?” She exclaims, puzzled. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“No.” He says quickly, though the words are muffled. “I shouldn’t have snapped, and I shouldn’t have said the words that I did, even in anger.”

Marinette is struck speechless by his apology, thinking it undeserved, and instead gently places her palms against his back. The stiffness in her posture melts away as she allows him to embrace her properly.

“No, you were right.” She says softly. “I overstepped.”

He shakes his head, but does not speak again, and silence falls between them until Marinette decides to break it.

“How was today?” She questions. “I saw you on the tv.”

Adrien pulls away to search her expression, before a weak smile comes across his face.

“It was really hard. But thank you. It’s thanks to you that there even was a memorial.” He says. “I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past few days, and I’ve realised that I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Confused, Marinette does not respond, simply allowing him to continue his explanation.

“You’ve been so trusting and opened up with me, and I haven’t done the same. The only things I’ve told you about my life have been when I’ve forced to tell you and I…” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. “I don’t want to do that anymore. You’re… so important. I haven’t felt like I could trust anyone or open up to anyone before, and then you come along and you’re so… _open_.” He whispers the last words, his eyes staring intently into hers. At this proximity, she can count each of the long lashes that frame his green eyes, and can see the faint freckles charming scattered across his cheeks and the ridge of his nose. Her breath catches in her throat for reasons she doesn’t fully understand.

“I… don’t know what to say.” She says, breathless with a warm but strange feeling expanding in her ribs. He smiles slowly.

“You don’t have to say anything. I just… want to tell you.”

And so he does- about everything. About his mother, about his father, his friends, about Lila, about every painful detail of the past year that he had previously kept bottled up inside. He opens up in a way he has never been brave enough to before, and at the end Marinette is crying. Tears stream down her face, overwhelmed by the stress and pain and sadness Adrien has gone through over the last year, hurt by his loneliness.

And when he pulls away from her embrace, she is quick to tug him back. She presses a gentle, lingering kiss against his cheek, and gently wipes away the tears he hadn’t realised had been steadily trickling down his cheeks the more he spoke. He turns bright red at her actions, and Marinette merely smiles warmly through her tears.

“Thank you, Adrien.” She says softly.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly feel I might puke. I think this was a little too fluffy for me- hopefully you guys don't feel the same way and actually enjoyed it!  
> I'm sorry for the delay in chapters. I've been swamped with exams and probably will be for the next while. I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out, but as always, come hang with me on tumblr and check in if you're wondering how the next chapter is going!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a hard chapter to write. At this stage, I'm really struggling with writer's block: I know what I want to write but I don't know if it's coming out the way I want it to come out... This chapter feels very stilted and awkward to me but I guess I'll let you guys be the judge of that? Anyways, I apologise for the delay, and I hope the chapter is enjoyable nonetheless. I tried my best, and that's really all you can expect of me, right? ;)

**Chapter 8: There's bound to be a coronation**

* * *

 

The day of Marinette’s coronation dawns bright and sunny. It reminds her a little of her wedding day, the way she stares into her reflection like it is a strange looking back at her. For this particular day, they have opted for the traditional garb of her kingdom- a large headdress balances upon her brow, with some of her hair twisted around the complex adornment, and the rest left to fall over her shoulders, deathly straight. She wears the traditional red of her kingdom, her clothes embroidered with intricate, thin gold flowers skirts that she knows from her high school history lessons represent the values of her kingdom. The garment falls to the ground heavily, and is cinched at her waist by a thick red sash. Her lips are a bright red, and her lashes thickened so that the woman in her reflection who stares back at her looks more like an ethereal queen from ancient times rather than her own, familiar, clumsy self.

“Your mother would have been so proud to see you like this.” Master Fu calls as he enters the room. He has a small leather box gripped between wizened hands. “She was so proud of our heritage.”

Marinette nods, turning back to gaze at the foreign reflection. It is a little overwhelming- it seems like only yesterday she was sitting in the reception of the hospital, awaiting the results of her blood test to see if she could be an organ donor. And now she stands in her private dressing room, awaiting her coronation. From this day forth she would take up the mantle of _queen_. Decisions would now fall to her when running the kingdom, people would look to her to be a pillar of strength and support. It was terrifying- she’s not capable of any of those things. She’s just… plain old Marinette. Silly, bad at expressing herself, a little too nosy for her own good and nervous beyond belief.

“I…” She starts. She clears her throat awkwardly when her voice cracks. “I’m not sure I can do this.” She admits. Master Fu’s gaze softens, and he places a gentle hand on her wrist.

“You are capable of far more than you think you are, Princess.” He says warmly. He lifts her hand to press the box into it. “This is a gift from your husband- he’s been caught up in interviews all morning and was worried he wouldn’t be able to deliver it to you.”

At the mention of Adrien, Marinette stiffens just the slightest bit. Ever since their fight and ensuing make-up, things have been… _weird_. Not in a bad way. No… weird because things were good. Unnervingly enjoyable. When she sees him, her heart fills with this strange, foreign emotion she is unfamiliar with, but if she had to describe it, it would be like her heart were on the verge of bursting. And since their fight, he’s been so _gentle_. He keeps giving her this smile that she is sure is bad for her health because her heart reacts so viscerally to it- like it’s trying to break out of her ribs and leap into his hands. And it unnerves her because she’s just so _happy_. She didn’t think happiness was a luxury she could afford. For so long, she’s just been dealing with crisis after crisis, her father’s illness, their inability to pay for his treatment, the revelation of her true parentage, her marriage, her coronation. It had felt like someone were repeatedly pelting her in the face with rocks, and now things have slowed to the point where something as simple as waking up to find Adrien waiting for her at the dining table with breakfast brings her so much _joy_. She doesn’t know what’s changed between them, but something has.

She wipes her sweaty palms on the expensive skirt of her garment before accepting the box. Inside is a necklace- it is simple. A thin, delicate gold chain with a diamond as a pendant. A little piece of cardboard protrudes from the velvet cushion, and Marinette flips it to see Adrien’s neat cursive written across it. It says _diamonds symbolize a long and prosperous rule- you’re gonna wow them all Queen Ladybug._

Marinette does not realise she’s smiling until Master Fu chuckles at her.

“It seems things have been going well between the two of you- that article of the two of you on a date was released to the public a few days ago.” He tells her. “Would you like me to put the necklace on for you?”

Marinette gazes at the necklace, before shaking her head with a smile.

“No, that’s fine. I’ll get him to do it when we have a moment.” She tells him. Her royal garb does not hold any pockets, so she walks over to her back and tucks the box safely there. She takes the opportunity to check her phone and is surprised to see a text from Alya.

Meet me by the stairs on the fourth floor in ten minutes.

It offers no other context and Marinette is left staring at in confusion. She checks the time it was sent- 5 minutes ago, meaning she has another 5 minutes to get there. She isn’t sure what Alya needs to speak to her about on a day as busy as this one, but at this stage she likes Alya enough to consider her a friend,  and she knows Alya wouldn’t ask to meet for no reason. Decision made, she looks to where her grandfather is reading through a briefing in the far corner of the room.

“I’m just going to duck out to the bathroom.” She tells him. He nods, and she doesn’t wait for any further conversation before she is ducking out of the room. She’s currently on the sixth floor, and normally it wouldn’t take that much effort to get to the fourth floor of the Town Hall, where the coronation is being held, except she finds she has to duck out of sight to avoid the staff prowling the halls.

When she arrives at the designated meeting spot, she is confused to find no Alya. No anyone, really, and she scans up and down the corridor. Perhaps she hasn’t arrived yet? She wonders idly around, glancing around for a glimpse of the reporter.

Only for a door to swing open. In the next second Marinette bites back a scream as she finds herself being dragged into an unoccupied store room.

This is it. She’s being murdered. Someone wanted to make a statement. She can see the headline now. ‘Princess murdered on day of coronation’. She squeezes her eyes shut and screams.

A hand claps over her mouth.

“Shhh!” Her assailant hushes her. Of course, that only makes her struggle harder. She twists in their hrasp and sees the face of her attacker.

“Adrien!” She splutters. He winces and holds a finger to his lips to signal for her to be quiet.

“I only just managed to escape from Nathalie, you’re gonna get us caught.” He whispers. Marinette can only glare.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!” She protests. “I thought I was being kidnapped!”

Adrien blinks huge green eyes at her as realisation dawns in them.

“Oh.” He says, looking sheepish. “My bad.”

“You goof!” She scolds, but she can’t keep the fond affection from her voice at the endearingly clueless expression on his face. He smiles, the corners of his lips upturning in a smile that has his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I couldn’t help it though- I wanted to see you.” He offers in his defence. “But Nathalie’s been following me around like a shadow. I had to enlist Alya’s help- I’ll have you know it cost me an exclusive interview post-coronation to plan this!”

“It was a poor plan anyway.” Marinette quips dismissively, but she knows the smile on her face contradicts her words. “What did you want to see me for?”

“Hmm...” He says contemplatively. “Can’t a husband want to see his wife before a big event like today just because?”

Marinette is irritated with herself at the way her heart beats faster at his words. She clears her throat a few times, trying to conceal how flustered she has become, but something in the teasing lilt of Adrien’s voice tells her it was exactly the reaction he had been hoping for.

“Yes well, you’ve seen me, so I guess I’ll be going then.” She teases, trying to conceal the way her cheeks have flushed red. He makes a grab for her hands though, holding her in place.

“Wait!” He says, dropping the teasing lilt. “D-Did your grandfather give it to you?”

“The necklace?” She asks. He flushes red, and rubs the back of his neck in a nervous gesture. It is then she registers his attire- his formal, royal garb, slightly different to the one he wore on their wedding day. It suits him- his hair is styled back, exposing his forehead. It accentuates the warm green of his eyes and reveals his prominent cheekbones. The store room is small and he had pulled her close against him when he dragged her into the room with him. This means at this proximity she can smell his cologne, sharp but pleasant, and admire the way his long lashes fan against his cheeks as he blinks.

When she realises he’s been talking she flushes, taking a step back. She is hoping the distance will help clear her head, but she still feels slightly dizzy with the scent of his cologne.

“Pardon?” She comments airily, hoping the lightness of her tone will distract from the fact that she had been staring rather than listening. Adrien looks confused.

“Why are you so spacey? I was just saying- _Oh_.” He aborts his sentence with a dramatic gasp.

“What?” Marinette answers, a little defensively. A wide grin spreads across his face, feline and overly-pleased.

“You were _staring_.” He points out, a little too smugly. Marinette feels her eyes widen, and scrambles to defend herself.

“No I wasn’t!” She splutters in outrage. “I was just- I-“

“It’s ok if you find me handsome,” He teases, entirely too pleased with himself. “It’s only natural that a wife finds her husband to be good loo-“

“I wasn’t staring!” Marinette cuts him off, her face surely an unappealing shade of red at this stage. Adrien just shakes his head, smiling fondly.

“You totally were.” He answers. “But that’s ok- for your own benefit, I shall pretend I didn’t notice you admiring me.”

Marinette isn’t sure where this newly playful Adrien has come from, but it isn’t the first time he’s made his appearance- ever since their fight, he’s been more at ease with her. Looser, more comfortable, less afraid of stepping on her toes. It’s allowed for times such as these, where they almost feel like… like a _real_ couple. The kind that flirts and goes on dates and teases each other. It affects her more than she cares to admit.

“I have somewhere to be.” She answers petulantly, a little too flustered to engage and banter back. She folds her arms across her chest and he chuckles fondly, reaching forward to adjust how her hair sits against her shoulders- it had become ruffled in their earlier struggle. She glances up to meet his gaze, and finds he is staring down at where the ornate necklace she is wearing for the coronation sits at the base of her throat. “What were you saying about the necklace?”

“That I noticed you’re not wearing it.” He tells her, the words, almost pouting. She almost laughs at the endearing expression, but manages to hold it back.

“I wanted you to put it on for me.” She admits, only slightly embarrassed. The pout vanishes and his eyes light up.

“It was _supposed_ to be a good luck charm, but if you want me to put it on for you then I _guess_ it can’t be helped- it will have to wait until later.” He tells her, pleased with her admission. “This can substitute instead.”

She barely has time to process his words and question him on it before he is ducking down to press a quick kiss to her forehead.

“Good luck princess,” He whispers gently in her ear, and then he is gone, with the door swinging behind him.

Dumbly, Marinette stares at the place where he had stood mere moments before, touching her fingers to where he had pressed his lips against her. Her heart flutters in her chest and an odd, tingly sensation spreads throughout her body.

Marinette shakes herself and steps out, only to find herself swamped by stressed workers who had been combing the building for her- the time for her coronation has arrived.

++

It is difficult to conceal the mess of emotions Adrien is experiencing as he is ushered into his seat. As husband to the future Queen, he is afforded the luxury of front row seating. It means he will be able to see every aspect of the coronation ceremony as it unfolds, but it also means hundreds of cameras will be trained on him for the whole event. Articles will be posted online, trying to decipher his every expression- is he happy for his wife? Jealous? Is he tired? He cannot allow the way his heart is trying to shatter his ribcage with its aggressive beating to show on his face. But it is difficult- his last few moments with Marinette are on replay in his mind- the warmth of her skin, the way she had looked up at him with those heartachingly beautiful blue eyes, the scent of her perfume. His lips tingle and he resists the urge to press his fingers against them, instead shifting in his seat as he scans the area around him.

“Nervous?” Nino asks, from beside him. Adrien nods distractedly.

“A little.” It what he admits. “It’s probably only a fraction of how she’s feeling though.”

Nino gives him an odd look, a sort of fond but relieved smile.

“Things seem to be going well between the two of you lately.” He comments. Adrien bites back a smile.

“I… yeah. It is… She’s great.” He confesses. “She’s so sweet, and kind, and…. I’m glad it was her. That she’s my wife, I mean.”

Nino beams.

“That’s fantastic man- If anyone deserves someone to make them as mushy as you just got, it’s you. I’m happy for you.” He tells Adrien, his eyes warm. Adrien’s response is cut off as Marinette’s entrance music begins to play, marking the start of her coronation. Everyone in attendance rises, turning their attention to where Marinette enters the hall. She clasps her hands together with quiet dignity and seems to glide forward with grace.

Adrien had noticed it before, when he had dragged her into the closet, but it hits him anew as he sees her- his wife is _beautiful_. She looks every bit the stunning queen that she is, and the one that he knows she will be. And for the first time, it hits him. This woman, this stunning, amazing, brave woman, is the very same woman that he gets to call his _wife_. That he’ll probably be calling his wife for the rest of his life. He married her. He married _Marinette_ , kind, wonderful, selfless Marinette. His breath catches in his throat and he cannot keep the smile from his face, cannot keep the adoration from his gaze.

He’s not sure what changed, or when exactly she stopped being a stranger- was it when he first learned of the heavy burden she carried? When he realised that everything she did, all the difficulty and misery and heartache she put herself through was for the sake of someone else? Was it when she went through endless trouble just to give him a day out? Was it as recently as when she had finally given him the strength to open up, had gently encouraged and stood by his side in his grief? Or was it long ago, when he first laid eyes on her and realised that, willingly or not, this was the woman he’d be spending the rest of his life with?

He does not know, and can only watch, his heart fluttering and his face red with the weight of his realisation. He likes her. He likes her _a lot_. So much it almost hurts. What had caused this? He knows he thought that he would never have the luxury of feeling this way. His whole life, knowing his marriage would be arranged, he had just accepted that that _feeling_ , the one that people gushed about, that people longed for, that changed lives, that every movie depicted would never be hid. But now, here he is, feeling as though his heart may burst out of his chest for the one person he thought he would never love- his wife. The woman he married.

The coronation carries on smoothly and without a hitch. It is a complex ceremony, filled with traditions Adrien does not understand. There are hundreds of years of culture tied into each action Marinette takes, each action symbolic and intended to characterise an aspect of her rule, her duty now that she is queen. And finally, it draws to a close- the headdress she had been wearing up to that point is removed and replaced with a crown. It is beautiful, inlayed with rubies that catch the light as Marinette straightens and bows deeply to the people watching, the people who are now hers. And just like that, Marinette Dupain-Cheng becomes Queen Ladybug.

Everyone seems to be riding on a high, gushing about the ceremony, discussing the dignity of their queen, and Adrien beams as he hears the chatter as a select portion of those in attendance are guided to another room where a press conference is to be held by Marinette, where she will detail her new rule and address any concerns the public may have.

Marinette steps out, having changed into clothes less restrictive and clunky than the formal, traditional garments she had donned for the coronation. Instead she wears a simple red dress and has her hair pulled back from her face in a neat ponytail.

“Hello,” She calls timidly into the microphone. “I will now be taking questions.”

There is a sudden commotion as reporters lean forward, trying to get their questions answered. Marinette answers each one skilfully, and Adrien beams with pride at her composure and clever answers. Some people are curious about what she hopes to achieve as Queen, and others are curious about her as a person. Generally, the interest seems to be towards what her actions will be moving forward from this point. Still, it all runs smoothly until one hand sticks up into the air.

Adrien stiffens as he recognises the face of the man that rises to his feet. As future heir to the throne, he is constantly coached on faces- who to make connections with, who to steer away from, who to charm and who to ignore… this man is a face that makes even an android like Nathalie uneasy. One of the most vocal anti-royalists out there, though he calls himself a journalist, he has no ethics to speak of. He takes words and twists them to suit his agendas, taking things out of context, telling only half-truths, all to encourage the public to vote for a dissolution of the monarchy. And they eat it up- this is a dangerous, dangerous man and he should not have even been permitted entrance to the press conference.

“Andre Damocles.” He announces to the crowd. Marinette nods uncertainly, clearly unaware of the man’s identity. “I work with the _Kingdom Daily_. I just had a few questions on your _motives_ for accepting the crown.”

Marinette looks weary and Adrien feels a tremor of unease. He wants to get up and interrupt, to stop the impending disaster. He’s seen this man at work- seen the way he humiliates people, how he twists their words. Even Adrien’s own father, the most composed, dignified man he knows, had at one time fallen victim to this man’s words. And Marinette is already terrified, already nervous and already exhausted under the many burdens she’s carried. He goes to get to his feet but a stern look from Nathalie has him pinned in place.

“What are your questions?” Marinette asks. The man smiles, a wide, eerie smile like a wolf that has just been offered a tasty morsel.

“Well,” He begins, drawing out the ‘well’ and looking pleased with himself. Adrien feels a wave of anger, clenching his fists tightly as he trembles with the effort of restraining himself. “You’re unqualified… literally plucked off the street. I did some background research and your highest level of education is in fashion design… you have a failed business startup which went bust after… _something_. I’m afraid my trail ends there, and every record of you vanishes until the press realised you were the lost princess and you somehow ended up in the position I’m sure every young woman who’s experienced a failed business venture dreams of. So my question for you, _princess_ , is… Are you only in this for the money?”

Silence falls over the room- so dense one could hear a pin drop. Adrien’s jaw drops in panic on Marinette’s behalf- What could she do? Deny it? Though Adrien knows the truth, and does not blame Marinette for the actions she had, he knows the kingdom will not be pleased to hear her true motives for taking up the crown. He clenches his jaws, ready leap to Marinette’s defence, ready to get up and speak for her.

He doesn’t have to though, because Marinette responds.

“Would you turn down this opportunity, were you in my shoes, Mr. Damocles?” Marinette asks lightly. “If one day, someone walked up to you and said ‘hello, you’re actually a princess.’, would you be able to say no? Would anyone?” She directs this question to the rest of the room. There is a hushed murmur, but no one dares speak out in protest. Their answer rings out clear as day though- no. They wouldn’t turn it down. “But I know that doesn’t answer your question. Am I in this only for the money? Well, I’d be lying to say that money didn’t have a role to play in my decision.” She admits, a little guilty. “And I’m sorry for that. Yes, my motives were not pure. But,” She says, her gaze flicking around the room as she stares down different people. “No, I am not in this purely for the money. Whatever my motives were at first… they’ve changed. This is going to sound corny, and I apologise to the viewers cringing as I say this,” A chuckle rings through the room at her words. “But it changed when I met my husband.”

Adrien’s jaw drops in shock. Marinette meets his gaze and offers him a quick wink.

“I admittedly didn’t know what ruling was… what I was doing when I agreed to become the princess once more. And then I saw how hard he worked. How everyday, he gave up his time, his youth, his _life_ , all for his kingdom. Not because he had anything to gain for it- after all, what use is all the riches in the world if at the end of the day you don’t get days off? If you don’t get the simple pleasure of spending time with friends, or even just relaxing at home without anything to do? And yet… He never complained. Not once. He bore so much burden to the point he was nearly crushed and yet he didn’t show one bit of resentment towards the kingdom. He’s always willing to give more for your sake. And so, thanks to him I realised… That’s what it means to be the Queen. That’s the purpose of the role I have- my life now is not my own. No, it is a life lived for the kingdom. And while I truly, truly apologise that I didn’t go into this with pure motives, I make this promise to you now. I will give everything I have to run this country- my husband and I both. We’ll do everything in our power to keep you safe.”

At this, cheers broke out as people got to their feet and applauded, enamoured of her charisma and touched by the sincerity of her promise.

And Adrien can only stare slack-jawed. Because he has realised something. He doesn’t just _like_ Marinette. No… it’s so much more. He knows who she is, behind everything, knows how down to her core now. She is no longer a stranger.

He may even love her.

++

“I’m so sorry Tom couldn’t be here- they’ve decided to keep him in overnight.” Sabine apologises profusely as she welcomes Adrien and Marinette into her home that night. Adrien smiles, shaking his head.

“No, no, I completely understand.” He says. “Is he ok?”

Sabine smiles sweetly, and he can see that the constant warmth in Marinette’s expression must come from her mother.

“He’s fine. Just… standard duty of care.” She elaborates vaguely. Beside him, Marinette frowns.

“They’ve never felt the need to keep him in overnight unless he’s really sick- are you sure he’s alright, Mama?” She questions. Sabine grabs the handle of Marinette’s suitcase, tugging it from her and turning to lead them up the stairs.

“No, darling, if it was any cause for concern, I’d tell you.” She says. She sets the suitcase by a closed door, and Adrien follows suit, setting down his own bag beside it. “Now, since Tom isn’t here, I’ll let you guys take the master bedroom- I can take Marinette’s old room.”

Adrien’s eyes go wide, and he is about to protest when Marinette links her arms through his, squeezing so tightly it almost hurts. He shoots her a confused look, but she doesn’t look at him, simply smiling at her mother.

“Thank you, Mama.” She says. “It’s not too late though- we can still stay in a hotel.”

“Nonsense.” Sabine scolds. “How could you stay in a hotel when your home is right here? No, you’ll both stay the night here. Now, I’ve almost finished dinner, so you two settle in and then come downstairs when you’re read, ok?”

And with that, Sabine is off, humming as she goes. This leaves Adrien free to whirl on Marinette.

“The master bedroom? Meaning there will be only one bed?” He asks, aghast. Not that the idea of sleeping in the same bed as Marinette is… _unappealing_ , per se. It’s just… with certain revelations he’s had over the course of the day, it’s a little _too_ appealing. He swallows, and clears his throat. “Don’t you think that’s a little inappropriate? Perhaps we should book into the hotel room, or one of us can sleep on the floor- I’m happy to rough house it-“

“Adrien,” Marinette cuts off with a half smile. He doesn’t miss the way she avoids looking directly at him as she says the words though. “It’s fine. We’re _married_. We’re going to have to start sharing a bed sometime anyway- didn’t you say you couldn’t organise for us to have separate wings once we move into the palace here anyway? We may as well get used to it.”

She swings open the door, and he takes the moment while her back is turned to have a little freak out. He doesn’t know whether to be happy or terrified. Just the thought of sharing the same bed as her… having the warmth of her body beside his as he drifts off, and having her smile be the first thing he sees in the morning… Adrien squeezes his eyes shut. _You can do this_ , he tells himself, repeating the words as a mantra as he follows Marinette into the room. It’s a comfortable sized bed, with sufficient room for two people. A wardrobe sits in the corner and there is a door to the bathroom, and a bedside table on either side of the bed.

“Y-You’re right.” He answers, cursing himself for his stutter. He hopes the dim lighting of the room conceals the way he is likely a bright, bright red right now. “We’re going to have to do it sooner or later. And we don’t want your mum to know the truth anyway.”

Marinette nods.

“That’s the spirit! You can probably put your bag over there.” She says, though there is a slight tremor in her voice. She tucks her suitcase into the corner of the room before turning to him. She shuts her eyes and inhales deeply, letting out a pleased sigh. “I can smell Mama’s cooking… you’re in for a real treat, Adrien! My mum’s most definitely the best cook in the world.”

She darts past him and disappears down the flight of stairs before he can offer a word. He finds himself alone in the room, where the bed seems to mock him at what will happen later in the night. He sighs. _You can do this Adrien_.

Dinner is a quiet affair. It’s quiet, but it’s so _warm_. Adrien hasn’t felt the warmth of a family dinner since his mum was alive, and Sabine’s simple, motherly ways make his heart ache. He finishes his food rapidly and is hesitant to take more, when Sabine suddenly leans forward and spoons more onto his plate.

“Eat.” She says simply. “Running a country means you need lots of energy- I made lots of food for a reason. Eat until you’re full.”

It’s stupid, but he’s so embarrassingly touched by the gesture that it takes him a moment to gather himself. His throat constricts and he glances down at his plate, embarrassed at the way his eyes sting. He feels a warm, gentle hand squeeze his arms and looks sideways to see Marinette smiling warmly at him.

_You ok?_ She mouths. He smiles slightly and nods.

“I…” He says aloud, looking at Sabine. It takes him a moment, but he manages to gather the words. “Thank you. For welcoming me into your home, I mean.”

Sabine merely smiles.

“You’re my son-in-law.” She tells him. “You’re welcome any time.”

And just like that, dinner comes to a close and the moment Adrien has been simultaneously dreading and looking forward to arrives. He showers first, and is already beneath the covers and seated against the headboard when Marinette re-enters the bedroom in a cloud of steam. The hairs at the nape of her neck curl slightly from the steam of the shower and her face is flushed from the warm water. She smells sweetly of her soap and even with her face scrubbed clean of makeup her eyes are endearing large and framed by thick long lashes. Distracting- she’s distracting.

He tries to play at nonchalance as she turns off the light and slips between the covers beside him.

“How are you feeling?” He questions. It’s been a long day, for the both of them. She ponders his question, rolling onto her side to gaze up at him. It’s so charmingly domestic that he has to look away or he may do something like smile stupidly or confess his undying love.

“I’m… ok.” Marinette answers. “I thought I’d be different. Nervous, or scared, or upset. But I just feel calm. I feel like I can do this. Well, no, that’s not true- I feel like _we_ can do this.”

Her correction makes it impossible for Adrien to conceal his smile, and he slides down, so that he too is lying on his side and facing her.

“We can.” He answers, with a smile he knows is probably goofy and lovestruck, but he can’t bring himself to suppress it. “That speech you gave to the reporter was nice.” He observes. Marinette smiles.

“I meant every word, you know.” She admits in a whisper. In the meagre lighting, everything somehow feels more intimate, and it’s doing weird things to his heart. Her words don’t help.

“You know how to flatter a man.” He quips. She laughs lightly.

“I suppose I do. Good thing I’m a married woman or they’d be lining up at the door.”

Gosh, she’s really not holding back, is she? Adrien fears his heart may burst if he allows this conversation to continue any further.

“I see… well, it’s late.” He says with a chuckle. “We should sleep. Good night, Queen Ladybug.”

“Good night, Prince Agreste.” Is her answering call.

Oddly enough, sleep comes easily that night. It’s the waking up that’s the problem.

As he shakes off the dregs of sleep the next morning, Adrien feels warm. Overly warm. Not uncomfortably so, just, more than he’s used to. Shifting slightly, he becomes alarmed when he realises he’s immobilised by… _something_. In a panic, he blinks open his eyes only to be greeted by an unfamiliar ceiling.

He almost sits up in his panic until he regains his bearings and recalls that he and Marinette had been staying in her childhood home for the night since things would no doubt get busy now and it was unclear when she would next see her family. Glancing down, he realises why he is immobilised.

Marinette’s a _sleep cuddler_. He doesn’t know how she’s done it, but somehow she’s tangled the covers around both of them. Her leg is thrown haphazardly over his body and she has tucked her face comfortably into the crook of his next and shoulder. Her hand rests in a loose fist on his chest. He doesn’t know whether to amused or horrified at her interesting sleep habits, and how she’s tangled her body so securely with his, but horror becomes the predominant emotion as he is presented with the following dilemma: how can he untangle her without her waking and the awkward position they were in becoming clear?

It is while he is internally panicking and gently trying to unravel Marinette’s body from his own that soft blue eyes blink themselves open. Her lids are still heavy with sleep and he watches as she slowly becomes aware of their situation.

_Oh_. He thinks as they just stare at each other dumbly for a moment. _This is awkward._

There is an unspoken agreement between the two of them, following this incident, to simply pretend it didn’t happen. For some reason, Marinette’s mother isn’t in the house, but she has breakfast set out for the two of them, and their flight isn’t until late in the evening. As a result, she and Adrien have a slow morning. While things start off awkward, gradually the embarrassment and shyness melts away. Adrien has the news playing on the tv in the background as he lazily pads around the house, preparing for their flight in the evening and helping Marinette clean up after breakfast. It’s domestic and simple and makes his heart feel full to the point of bursting.

Sabine doesn’t return until after lunch, while Adrien and Marinette are clearing away the last of the dishes. Adrien can’t cook, so Marinette had made something simple. She storms in looking flustered and out of breath, but when her gaze lands on the two of them, she beams. Her entire face lights up, and beside him, Marinette freezes.

“Mama?” She questions hesitantly, carefully setting down the frying pan she had been diligently drying. A tear trails down Sabine’s face, and she scrubs at it, looking surprised.

“I… I’m sorry, I just…” She says slowly. Gradually, her breathing evens out. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you last night, Marinette. When I said your father was in hospital for standard care… It’s actually because he got a donor.”

“What?” Marinette breathes, her eyes going wide and her breaths shortening. Adrien glances between the two of them, unsure of what to do.

“I didn’t want to get your hopes up because it hit you so hard last time when it fell through. But the surgery was this morning, and he just came out of anaesthetic. I was just coming back to get you- it’s still a little early, but they said the surgery went well and he should be moved out of isolation soon.” Sabine gasps.

“Mama!” Marinette gasps in a joyous sob, throwing herself forward to wrap her arms around her mother. Overjoyed, Adrien follows suit, and the three of them are wrapped in an embrace in Marinette’s mother’s kitchen. Sabine pulls away.

“Anyways, grab your things- he can’t take any visitors in the room with him yet, but we can talk to him through a screen. You can come too, Adrien!” She says. “I’m just going to grab some things from the other room!”

With that, Adrien and Marinette are left alone, and she beams at him, still with tears streaming from her eyes.

“Can you believe it?” She asks Adrien breathily, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, feeling his own eyes sting with relieved, joyous tears.

“Yeah. I’m so happy for you, Marinette.” He says, pulling her in for a hug. They pull away and their eyes meet- just for a moment, like to magnets connecting suddenly. The air feels like it’s charged with electricity and for a moment, Adrien thinks they may be inching closer to each other. His gaze flickers down to her mouth- her lips are slightly parted and her eyes are wide and serious.

Just as his eyes flutter shut and he feels the barest brush of her lips on his, he hears words coming from the news playing in the background that have him pulling away in dismay. His heart plummets into his stomach as he reads the headline flashing across the screen.

_Breaking news: Newly coronated Queen Ladybug not really the lost princess?_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooft. A lot happened here. Hopefully the pacing feels natural, but even if it doesn't, what can I do? We're so close to the end guys!! I actually was really looking forward to writing this chapter, and I feel like I'm reaching the point where I've written most of the scenes I wanted to write when I started planning this. But we're not at the end yet, and there's still more to come!!! As always, feel free to come hang with me at @the-protractor on tumblr.  
> And thank you to everyone who's left a review up til now- it's really helped me get through this fic and I think when I have writer's block like I did with this chapter, I just think of all the lovely things you guys have said and it's helped me power through. Anyway, we're almost done with our journey together- let's stick together for a little while longer!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! We're almost at the end- one more chapter to go! A lot of you guess what was gonna happen in this chapter so I won't keep you in suspense much longer ;)

**Chapter 9: There's bound to be a catastrophe**

 

* * *

 

 

Lila stands alone on a podium- the screen flashes as dozens of camera flashes go on. She looks shy, hesitant as she leans demurely towards the microphone. She has notes gripped in front of her and her hands shake as she slowly reads her scripted answer.

“My name is Lila Rossi.” She informs the eager crowd- dozens of reporters look on, eager to snap up whatever falls from her mouth and slap it on a headline. Countless more viewers watch Lila through their screens, either tvs or news websites- it’s being livestreamed on nearly every channel. “I was born and raised in an orphanage and actually came in contact with the late Queen of the Noir Kingdom. I don’t think anyone could have guess my true origins,” She says, a little sheepishly, before looking straight into the camera that is providing the live feed. “But I am the Lost Princess. The real one- Marinette Dupain-Cheng is a fraud.”

At her words, the crowd breaks out in a racket, everyone clamouring for her attention, hoping that their question will be the one she chooses to answer. She does no such thing- instead she continues reading out the speech that someone has undoubtedly prepared for her.

“I had my doubts when Marinette first came forth as the Lost Princess,” She admits. “That contradicted with certain memories I held. I couldn’t shake the doubts, so I had a DNA test performed- Copies of the results are being handed around now. They confirm that I, Lila Rossi, am the closest living relative to the crown and that Marinette was falsely coronated. I demand that she abdicate immediately and return to me what is rightfully mine.”

There is a flutter as papers are passed around to news reporters- someone swaps the feed on the screen to show the DNA results and a quick scan of the results show that Lila is apparently the lost princess.

The King slams down a piece of paper behind Adrien, with identical results printed on its smooth white surface, and points accusingly at it.

“This,” He begins, his voice shaking with barely repressed rage. A vein bulges in his temple as he slams his palm flat on the page. Adrien flinches at the sudden noise. “Is absolute _garbage_.”

Never, in all Adrien’s life, has his father expended the energy to shout as he does now. Adrien likes to think he does a good job of suppressing his fear of his father, but he’d be lying if he said he isn’t shaking in that moment. The room rings in wake of Gabriel’s furious shout.

“ _How could you allow this to happen?”_ Gabriel yells, directing all focus and fury at Adrien. Adrien trembles and looks away.

“I… I don’t see how I could have prevented it.” Adrien admits. “Even you didn’t see this coming.”

“You _could_ have prevented it by putting that orphan behind bars _when I told you to_.” Gabriel snarls. He grabs the paper and jerks it forcefully in Adrien’s face- the top wrinkles beneath the force of Gabriel’s grip. “If you weren’t so _soft_ , she wouldn’t be roaming around free to do this. Now, I’ve got Nathalie tracking down whatever _quackpot_ doctor they found to fabricate these results, but if you don’t get out there _now_ and _fix this_ then I can promise you _the consequences will not be pretty_. Now get OUT!” He says, and to punctuate his statement, he grabs and inkpot and hurls it with full strength at the wall behind where Adrien is standing. Adrien, to his credit, does not flinch as it shatters, spraying ink across the pristine beige wall. Gabriel jerks a remote at the tv which is still showing Lila’s press conference, and her face vanishes. He turns away from Adrien, a clear dismissal.

Adrien bows deeply before leaving the room, and he maintains his composure all through the dreaded corridor, and it is only when he reaches the sanctity of the staircase that leads up to his own room that he releases the tension he didn’t know he had been holding in his body. He crumbles to the ground, shaking, his heart racing with absolute panic. Slowly, he uncurls his fingers- he hadn’t realised he had been clenching them, but as his fingers peel away from his palms, he sees red crescent moons carved into the fleshy skin of his palms.

Adrien massages his fingers into his temples, willing away the sharp headache that has plagued him since disembarking the plane and returning to the palace. If he feels bad, he is sure Marinette must feel a million times worse. She had opted to remain in the Coccinelle kingdom while her father recovered from the transplant. He hadn’t understood the specifics of what the doctor had said in his brief visit before his plane trip, but he understood that recovery from such a complex and risky procedure was long and stressful, and that each day brought concerns anew. He remembers when he first met Marinette and she had been pale and gaunt and stressed. He hadn’t known in at the time, but as Marinette’s cheeks had slowly filled out over the time he knew her, he had realised just how much the stress of her father’s illness had taken from her. He wants to be there, with her, making sure she’s eating, making sure she’s sleeping, but he knows he is most useful here. Damage control is what Marinette needs right now, and so damage control is what he will do. Still, he longs to return back to that morning before the news had broken, where her limbs had been tangled with his and he had been able to feel each gentle puff of breath against his neck as she lightly snored.

The memory of that morning is oddly soothing despite the painfully awkward moments that followed, and it is this recall that allows Adrien to gather himself enough to get to his feet. He needs to fix this- not because his father had ordered and threatened him to do so, but for Marinette’s sake. His father is ruthless and Adrien fears that if the scandal is not fixed in time that he may have to divorce Marinette- he has not doubt that Gabriel Agreste would do such a thing. Marinette’s one purpose for his father is to prevent the dissolution of the monarchy. Once she stops fulfilling that role, her usefulness to him is done and Gabriel is not the kind of man to keep anything around that does not fulfill a purpose.

The thought is one Adrien cannot bear to entertain- the thought of removing Marinette, who, in a very short amount of time, has somehow become frighteningly vital to Adrien, leaves him a nervous wreck. From the moment their marriage had been arranged, Adrien had been prepared to spend the rest of his life with her, willingly or not, but now he _wants_ to spend the rest of his life with her. He wants her smile, her warmth, her presence. He wants to rule alongside her, to raise kids with her, to grow old with her. And so the fact that this stupid situation threatens all that makes him sick with panic. What if Lila’s actions were enough to take away all these things? He has only recently gathered the courage to allow himself to want these things, to hope for these things, and now it all teeters on the edge of a terrifying precipice.

As Adrien walks to his car, he pulls out his phone- Marinette hasn’t texted him since he sent her a message to let her know he’d arrived safely, but Marinette is not his target. No, if the media and media coverage is his problem, then there’s really only one person who can help him right now. Someone who will help him fight fire with fire.

Someone like Alya Cesaire.

++

Alya looks angry. Her arms are folded across her chest and she taps her foot impatiently against the ground.

“When I said you could come to my place, I didn’t mean you could bring _her_.” Alya scolds, glaring at Adrien. It takes a lot of courage not to cower beneath the weight of her gaze. Alya is _scary_.

But ultimately, Chloe is scarier and so when she discovered Adrien’s plans and insisted that she be brought along, he did not have it in him to resist. Plus, while Chloe is currently making herself at home by criticizing Alya’s modest apartment in the most offensive ways she can think of, she genuinely did have Adrien’s best interests at heart. Somehow, he thinks he will not be able to convince Alya of that based on how poorly Chloe’s comment on Alya’s choice of cutlery sets is received.

“ _Chloe_ ,” Adrien exclaims, exasperated. She turns to Adrien, arching a perfectly plucked brow. “Alya was kind enough to let us into her home _please stop disrespecting her_.”

Chloe shakes her head.

“Is anything I’ve said so far a lie though? Look at how mistmatched this is- she probably _did_ fish half this stuff out of a charity drive.” She sniffs, folding her arms across her chest. Beside him, Alya lets out a strangled noise akin to a furious growl, and Adrien is sure that the only thing that stops her from strangling Chloe is the cautionary hand he holds out in front of her. Just subtly enough that Alya can take the hint, which she does with an annoyed sigh, turning away from the two of them.

“ _Alright_ ,” Alya exclaims. “If you’re _done_ , can we get on to the reason you lot are here in the first place? To help _Marinette_?”

Sheepishly, Adrien nods. He takes a seat on the cream leather couch that Alya gestures to, and she sets the coffee mug she had been holding in a death grip before him.

“It’s only instant. I can’t afford whatever fancy brand you probably drink.” Alya informs him by way of apology. Adrien shakes his head and smiles sheepishly.

“No, no. This is fine- and thank you so much for agreeing to this. I’m sorry about Chloe.” He tells her. Alya shoots a distasteful glance at Chloe, who, rather than take a seat as well, is amusing herself by examining the surfaces of Alya’s apartment for dust. Adrien shakes his head with a sigh.

“Don’t worry about it. She’s annoying, but I do get it. My baby sister has similar manners- she’s just entered her terrible twos, you see.” Alya tells him with a barely restrained smile. Even Adrien finds himself withholding a snort. Alya settles onto the seat close to him, leaning against the armrest.

“So, on to business- I saw the press interview this morning.” Alya tells him, her eyes sharp and alert and keen for a scoop. “Interestingly enough I should have been there- the fact that I didn’t even receive an invite tells me that they were filtering what press had access to that interview. So I have a feeling that maybe the story on the surface isn’t the whole truth.”

“It isn’t the truth at all.” Adrien says bitterly, taking a long sip from the coffee Alya had given him. He sets the mug down. “Lila is absolutely not the lost princess.”

“How can you be sure?” Alya asks. “They had that DNA report and she _is_ an orphan.”

“Because being a lifelong fraud is her career and she’s finally found a sponsor.” Chloe says, settling down beside Adrien with perhaps a little more force than was necessary. She had evidently tired of searching for dust. She throws one leg over the other and leans towards Alya with a gaze and sharp and greedy as an enraged wolf. “And while I don’t mind Marinette getting a bit humbled by a scandal, I will not stand for it if Adrien is affected. And since they are married, Marinette’s bad press is Adrien’s bad press.”

Alya gives Chloe a scrutinising look like she’s a particularly interesting puddle of vomit.

 “I’m asking for _proof_.” Alya emphasises. “You can claim all you want that she’s a fraud but the only way to help Marinette is to prove that she’s really the lost princess.”

Adrien pauses to deliberate.

“Perhaps… perhaps if I spoke to Lila? I don’t know _what_ ’ _s_ gotten into her, and why she thinks she can pull of a lie this huge scale, but maybe once she realises what she’s done, she’ll back off?” He suggests hopefully. Chloe is quick to shoot him down.

“I do adore that you’re so _charmingly_ naïve, darling Adrikins, but that woman’s a poisonous serpent. She wouldn’t see the error of her ways if it stabbed her in the eye. No, we need DNA tests from Marinette and Master Fu and the testimony of whatever quackpot doctor signed that report.” Chloe tells him. Alya nods her agreement.

“While I wouldn’t say it with such irritatingly patronising words, I do have to agree with Queen Bee over here. That’s the best shot we have to help Marinette.” Alya tells him.

Adrien is about to thank Alya for her help and enquire about whether she would be able to into the doctor for him when Alya holds up a hand as a signal for them to cease conversation. Her phone is ringing, and she answers quickly.

For a moment, Alya just listens, but then she looks alarmed. She shoots a furtive glance at Adrien before setting the phone down.

“I… You may want to see this, Adrien.” Alya finally says. “That was my work place- they keep track of all news of you guys and call me if they want me out in the field. There’s… a livestream going on right now. And… we might need a bit more than a doctor’s testimony for the damage control _this_ will require.” She says, her voice soft and concerned as she flicks on her tv and switches to the correct channel.

For a second, Adrien stares uncomprehendingly at the screen before him. The image quality is good but the camera is whipping around violently as what looks to be some sort of riot plays out on the screen.

Then Marinette appears on the screen and Adrien feels like his world comes to a screeching stop.

She’s being _mobbed_. That’s almost too kind of a word for what’s happening to her onscreen. She and her mother are trying to force their way through the crowd. With a sinking heart Adrien recognises the hospital where her father is recovering. People reach and grab for her- a bodyguard that had stayed with them tries in vain to fend off the furious crowd. Adrien almost cries out when an egg shatters across Marinette’s temple and yolk and white smears across her face. She flinches but merely holds her hand out over her mother in an attempt to protect her. He dimly registers the headline that rolls across the bottom of the screen- _Recently coronated Marinette agreed to the crown to fund her father’s surgery and ‘cheat’ the system._

Someone succeeds in whacking Marinette with their outstretched arms and Alya wisely chooses that moment to turn off the tv.

For a minute the three of them just sit in stunned silence. Adrien is glad he was sitting for he fears his knees may have buckled under him if he had watched that feed in a standing position. His stomach churns with anguish and anxiety. The unpleasant, churning sensation comes to a boil and Adrien abruptly rises to his feet. He staggers slightly, but Alya catches his elbow.

“I have to go to her.” He informs the other two women in a shaky voice. To his surprise, rather than allow him to leave to go to Marinette’s side like he should have been from the start, Alya tightens her grip on his elbow.

“You’ll do no such thing.” Chloe says firmly on Alya’s behalf. Alya rises to her feet and gentle pushes Adrien until he is once more seated on her couch.

“She’s right- I don’t think that’s the best idea right now.” Alya says softly. “She’s flying back in a couple days, right? Her grandfather will set up better security next time. She’s gonna be fine. We have bigger fish to fry, Adrien.”

“Like what?” He doesn’t quite mean for his voice to come out as anguished as it does. “What could be more important that _helping her_?”

“Securing her future, maybe?” Chloe suggests drily, as she idly examines perfectly manicured nails. “That thing about her father is gonna destroy any credibility she had unless we fix it quick. And if there’s one thing I know about the media and the public, it’s that the best way to hush up a story is to release a bigger, juicier story.”

“I’m gonna ignore the lack of journalism ethics behind that tactic and reluctantly agree.” Alya says sharply. “As much as it pains me to say it and goes against every moral I have as a journalist, she’s right. If we want all this to quiet down, we need to expose the truth with Lila. That way the story goes from “Fake queen pretends to be royal to pay for her father’s surgery and bump him up on the donor’s list” to “Our beloved Queen victimised by antiroyals and crazy girl all the while dealing with the recovery of her ill adoptive father.””

“So then what do we do?” Adrien asks anxiously. Both Alya and Chloe look at him with grim faces.

“We give lying Lila a call.”

++

Marinette is tired. Over the last 48 hours she’s probably gotten maybe 3 hours of sleep. Her phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for the past few hours, her grandfather is furious, she’s got egg on her face and her cheek is bleeding.

When will enough be enough? Why is it that every time she finally feels like life is going well, something goes wrong? She’s never wanted a lot from life-her family to be safe and happy and for her to not constantly feel like she’s preparing to jump off a speeding train. Is that really too much to ask for in life?

It must be, or she wouldn’t be in this situation. She’s almost convinced she’s being punished by fate for some heinous crime were it not for one thing.

_Adrien_.

Is it strange that the one thing she’s been longing for throughout this whole ordeal is to crawl into bed with him and sleep her troubles away? She wants to go back to the closet before her coronation, where he was smiling at her and teasing her and warm and happy and present. She wants him _here_.

Logically, she knows he cannot be. Though he had been greatly distressed to do so, someone needed to return to his kingdom to clean up the mess that was Lila’s lie. And as long as her father is still in the critical period of recovery from his transplant, she cannot do that. What if she were to return and start accepting the interviews people are pleading with her to do and then her father’s condition worsened? So she’s so, so grateful that Adrien is doing what he is doing but she wants him here. He is the one thing that would make her feel less like the world is trying to crush her. But he’s not here.

“Marinette?” Her grandfather’s voice breaks gently through her thoughts. She glances at him, disorientated and thoroughly exhausted. He smiles sadly at her. “You look like you’ve seen better days. Why don’t you take a break? Have a rest while I make some more calls. You don’t need to be here for this.”

“Are you sure?” She asks, but the answer lies in the yawn she releases as soon as she asks the question. Her grandfather is quick to shoo her out of the room.

She stumbles tiredly towards her room. She’s decided to stay in a hotel to keep the press away from her mother. The last thing her mum needs right now is paparazzi bothering her.

Her phone buzzes once more and she nearly breaks into tears, but she checks it as she sits on her bed. She’s appreciative of the way the covers poof up around her and the way the mattress sinks a little beneath her weight. Her heart leaps into her throat- it’s a phone call from Adrien.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as soon as she answers. She feels like her lungs have been knocked with a mallet.

“I’m fine.” She answers quickly. “Dad’s fine too.”

“I… saw the news report.” Adrien says. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

She remembers the debacle earlier today with despair and for some reason Adrien’s questions makes them spill forth without her concern.

“Yeah.” She says, struggling to keep her voice even.

“Alright. I just called to say that we have an action plan to fix this whole mess. I’m gonna call Lila and speak to her and Alya and Chloe are looking into some stuff that should help you.” He tells her. She’s so relieved to hear the warm tone of his voice, and for some reason the knowledge that he’s got her back makes her cry even harder.

“T-thanks Adrien.” She tries to answer sincerely. But her voice cracks. She almost curses at her traitorous voice. On the other side of the line Adrien is quiet for a moment.

“Are you crying?” He asks softly, gently.

“No.” Is her quick response despite the tears that pool beneath her lids and dribble down the back of her throat. “No I’m not crying.” She says again, as if that will make her statement more true.

“Marinette...” Adrien says softly. “You are. I can hear it.”

“I’m not.” She protests. For a long moment Adrien does not respond and she checks her phone to see if he’s hung up. He hasn’t.

“You are.” He responds at last. “You’re crying and you won’t tell me. Why won’t you tell me?”

“I...” Marinette answers, a little thrown off by his question. “I don’t want you to be worried.”

“It’s my job to be worried. If you’re crying, if you’re laughing, if you’re smiling, if you’re frowning. That’s my business now too and it has been since the day we walked down the aisle together. It just took me a long time to realise it.” Adrien says in a rushed exhale. Marinette remains speechless. “We are husband and wife now and so if you’re crying you have to tell me. If you don’t I can’t fix it and if I can’t fix it I’m being a bad husband. All I want...” his voice cracks, to Marinette’s surprise. “What I want is to help you. Because I’m your husband. Because you’re my wife and that means something. Ok? So I’m gonna ask you again if that’s alright. Marinette, are you crying?”

For some reason, Marinette feels like what he’s asking is so much more than if she’s merely crying or not. That is why she hesitates with her answer. He knows she’s crying. He can hear it and she’s basically admitting it. But he still asked because...

Because...

The revelation comes on slowly. He’s asking her to trust him. To confide in him, to be with him, to go through this with him at her side. He’s asking her not to be alone, but to fight the battle with him.

Husband used to be an empty term to her. A word and title as meaningless as the royal title she still could not quite connect herself to. Husband meant duty, meant being bound to someone she did not necessarily care for, meant obligation but somehow, somewhere along the line it stopped meaning that. Now it’s more than just a word synonymous with a necessary evil. Now it encompasses what Adrien means to her. He’s her husband. For better or worse, through rain and sunshine... he is hers and she is his.

She realises she hasn’t answered his questions. Does she trust him? Is she crying?

“I am.” She finally says, her voice barely above a whisper. Adrien inhales deeply on the other side of the line.

”Then do you want me to come to you?” He asks.

“Yes.” She says softly. “But you can’t, ok? We have to fix this. I want you here but you have to be there.”

“I know.” Adrien says softly. “And I’m gonna fix it, ok? Don’t worry about a thing. It’s going to work out.”

Tears flood her eyes anew but these tears don’t feel like sad ones.

“Promise?” She asks, finally allowing the fear and vulnerability to seep into her voice because Adrien can handle it. He chuckles.

“I promise.” He answers sincerely. “On one condition.”

“What?” She asks, confused. 

“Let’s go on a honeymoon, when all this is over. Somewhere tropical and warm. We’ll go on lots of dates and won’t think of royal things for at least a week. Ok? Is that a deal?” He says, his voice serious. Marinette lets out a light bit teary laugh.

“Deal.” She says with a smile.

And he’s on the other side of the phone in a completely different kingdom to her but it feels like he’s sitting right next to her. And soon he will be because she trusts him and he said they would get though this.

So they’re going to get through this.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! One more chapter. I almost can't believe it. I was skimming through some of the earlier chapter earlier today and I feel like it's been a journey. IDK maybe you guys don't feel like that but I really feel like Marinette and Adrien have been on a roller coaster together through this fic and I'm looking forward to finally leaving them in peace to enjoy their lives. It's been a fun journey today and I hope you've had as much fun on this journey as I have. I certainly didn't realise how much I loved this universe and this version of the characters until now but they've really grown on me. I just wanted to write a quick, low stakes, fluffy story that wasn't much effort to write but somewhere along the line I feel like Marinette and Adrien really fell in love. And now I can't wait to send them off and I hope you guys feel the same way!
> 
> As always, come hang with me on the-protractor at tumblr! Whether you miss me or you're excited about the last chapter or you're dreading it, just come say hi because we've been through a lot together at this stage ;)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S HEERRREEEEEEE! The final chapter! As I wrote this, it was sort of strange- I didn't think I'd get to the end! And yet, here we are, wrapping things up once and for all. Hopefully the ending is satisfying, and I won't keep you from it any longer!

**Chapter 10: They were bound to be together**

* * *

 

 

 

Lila Rossi had lost everything she owned in one fell swoop. Before the accident, her parents had been wealthy. Not ludicrously so. Just enough to spoil their daughter rotten. To buy her every toy she desired, to dress her in the finest clothes and to dote on her with everything they had. She had never wanted for anything.

But life is fragile and Lila had learned that the hard way. She had told Adrien through teary eyes that it had been raining when it happened- apparently her parents had been planning to take her on a lake trip to a log cabin in a well-known holiday spot to celebrate the news that they had another child on the way. Her mother had apparently cradled her stomach in the passenger seat and she had smiled at Lila in the back seat. She had promised that she would love both Lila and the little baby inside her with all her heart.

The other car had been filled with a bunch of drunk young men who had no fear of consequences, or at least that was what Lila had learned upon further investigation during her youth. They had been coming back from a camping trip and to a curve in the road a little too sharply and a little too fast. The car had rolled twice before coming to a stop. All people involved had been dead on impact. Except for Lila. No one had ever been able to explain how, but horrifically injured and a mere 5 years old, she had survived. She had been trapped in the car with her dead parents for six hours when people found her and it had taken another three hours to get her safely out of the car.

The doctors had been sure she wouldn’t make it, but she pulled through. Lila was a fighter and that was what she did but that sort of experience changed a person. Perhaps that was why Adrien’s mother took the pity on her that she did. Adrien doubts he will ever know. He certainly didn’t know of her true past until after his mother died and he had only been told it in an attempt from Lila to manipulate him after everything that had happened between them. But from the moment that the Queen laid eyes on that tiny, wounded child, she had been smitten.

Even at a young age, Lila had been troublesome. She had known what it felt like to have what she wanted and she had known what it was like to lose it and it wasn’t a feeling she was going to endure again willingly. Perhaps that is why she clung to Adrien and his mother with such urgency and ferocity. It was not something Adrien had ever felt the need to question. He had had few friends and Lila was fun to be around and so it was good news when his mother brought her to the palace to play with him. Chloe had hated her for some reason, but Adrien loved making friends. And so she had been one of his closest friends from the moment he met her. Yes, she had her moments where she was a little too clingy, or when she chased off girls who got a little too close to him. But he had never minded. Lila had told him her parents had abandoned her, and so he had always assumed she was afraid he or his mother would to the same. He knew her and he understood her.

Or at least, he thought he did. He could justify most things Lila had done to him. He had forgiven her a lot. He could even forgive her lies about her parents- who would want to admit to or talk about such a horrible past? He could justify the way she had driven away people that he liked or got along with. He could justify her dislike of Chloe. He could even justify her initial deceit to get him to run away with him.

But for as long as he lives, he will never understand how she could have lied to him about his mother. How she could have heard the news and concealed it rather than tell him the truth. And a part of him will always consider Lila a friend. His heart will always ache when he thinks of the pain she has endured. And he probably will never be able to stop caring. Even after the terrible, terrible thing she did to him, she is Lila and he is Adrien and he can’t not care about her.

But he cannot allow her to hurt the woman he loves and that is how he summons enough courage to meet with her. Though he is positively sick with anxiety and dread, though he thinks he may vomit when he sees her face, he holds his head high as he arrives at the address she had sent him.

“Are you sure this is a good idea, man? You know she’s a snake.” Nino asks as he pulls over on the kerb side. Adrien pauses before he gets out of the car and grimaces at his longtime friend.

“I have to. There’s really no other way to fix this.” He tells Nino. Nino nods grimly and puts his car in park.

“Well I’ll be waiting out here for you. I’m trained in civilian rescue if she attacks you- just make sure to scream really loudly, got it?” He says. Adrien tries to smile but he is sure that all that comes out is a face that looks like he’s trying not to vomit.

Lila answers the door when he rings the bell. Her whole face lights up when she sees him and she ushers him in like he has come for a social visit rather than to beg her to confess to a fairly serious crime.

“I knew you’d come.” She said warmly. “That reporter guy said you would and I guess he knew what he was talking about.”

“Is that how you were able to pull this off?” Adrien asks, wanting to avoid small talk at all costs. “What reporter?”

Lila wrinkles her nose.

“That’s not important? Aren’t you here to see me?” Lila asks. Adrien would almost feel guilty if it weren’t for the urgency of the matter at hand.

“I’m here to ask you- no, to beg you to come clean.” Adrien says simply. Lila looks at him like he’s just started speaking a foreign language.

“Come… clean?” She echoes, like the words are poisonous. “Why would I do that?”

“Because it’s wrong Lila. You can’t lie to everyone like this. And you can’t take what’s rightfully Marinette’s.” He tells her firmly.

“Why not?” She asks, her voice eerily confused. Like she genuinely doesn’t understand what’s wrong with what she’s done. “Marinette already has a family who loves her. She has a mother and a father. And she’s paid for his surgery now too, so she doesn’t need the crown anymore. Why should she get her mother, her father, the crown and you, while I get nothing?”

“None of that belongs to you Lila.” Adrien says. “I know how hard things have been for you but that doesn’t give you the right to-“

“Can’t you pretend?” She interrupts him.

“What?” He asks.

“Can’t you pretend? That I’m really the lost princess? That I didn’t lie? It’s not like you even wanted to be with Marinette in the first place. Your father arranged the marriage, didn’t he? At least you know me. And I know you don’t… I know you don’t love me but maybe you could. If we pretended long enough. Marinette’s already gotten what she wanted. Why can’t I have what I want too?” Lila pleads. Adrien stares at her for a moment, utterly speechless.

“What about me?” He finally asks softly. She looks confused. “What about I want?” He elaborates when she doesn’t seem to understand. “Why do you never consider what I want? Why do you never ask? Why do you always treat me like another thing that you own? Have you ever, in your entire life, thought about what I would want? Thought about what it would look like to put me first, just for one tiny moment. To ignore what you want and let me live my life?”

He doesn’t mean for the volume of his voice to rise but by the time he is finished he is practically shouting. Lila looks like she may cry as she stares at him.

“What… what do you want?” She finally asks.

“I want Marinette. Only her. I love her. I probably always will and I’m sorry that it’s come to this, but I won’t ever love you. Maybe you can live your life deceiving yourself but I can’t and I won’t live like that. So tell everyone the truth. Right now. Tell me whatever reporter put you up to this and go and do another live press interview and confess.” Adrien tells her.

“I’ll go to jail.” Lila whispers. “Could you really send me to jail?”

And he hesitates. For the rest of his life, for the rest of his existence, he will regret it, but he hesitates. Because it’s a valid question- could he really send her to jail?

“He doesn’t have to because I’m going to.” He starts at the voice that comes from behind him. Chloe stands in the open door frame, holding up her phone. The recorder app is open on the screen. Chloe glances at her phone and adjusts something on the screen before playing back that audio file.

“Can’t you pretend? That I’m really the lost princess? That I didn’t lie?” Lila’s voice echoes clearly back at them and Chloe smirks triumphantly.

“Oh I’m really going to enjoy seeing you in a prison uniform. I have always liked stripes as a style.” She sneers at Lila.

Lila stares between the two of them in horror for a moment, like she can’t understand what has just transpired and then she bolts. She pushes past Chloe and sprints away.

Neither Adrien nor Chloe chase after her.

++

The article breaks the next day, a few hours before Marinette’s plane is due to land.

It turns out Lila’s mystery ‘sponsor’ is none other than Andre Damocles, the Kingdom Daily’s most beloved reporter and the most famous anti-royalists to walk the planet, save for the two who put the lost princess in an orphanage rather than kill her. She confesses his involvement almost as soon as the authorities catch her and manages to land herself a plea deal with that information.

Alya is truly a miracle worker. He doesn’t know how she has dug up half the information in the article but it really does expose every nasty, dirty little detail of the scandal. From Lila’s tragic past, to her obsession with Adrien, to her unrepentant lying.

What’s more terrifying is how much she manages to dig up on Mr. Damocles. Adrien doesn’t know who’s more impressive- Mr. Damocles, for somehow managing to be such a vocal and well-known anti-royalist without anyone discovering his horrifying past or Alya for managing to dig it up.

But she succeeds in digging it up and it’s splashed across the front page of the huge news company she works for for all to see.

It turns out that Mr. Damocles isn’t just a vocal antiroyalist. He’s a man of action and while he’s somehow been able to evade prosecution for 20 or so years, he was one of the main instigators of the riots in the Coccinelle Kingdom all those years ago. The very same riots that resulted in the lost princess being torn from her home and being presumed dead. It is horrifying to consider just how much this man has ruined Marinette’s life for the sake of a political statement. Somehow, because he did not agree with the existence of a monarchy, he managed to justify ruining the lives of an entire family- no, an entire kingdom, not just twenty years ago, but in the modern day. Apparently his plan this time was meant to be less violent- Marinette’s scandal would turn the public and lead to them pushing for a dissolution of the monarchy and Lila was an easily manipulated co-conspirator in his master plan. He didn’t bank on a reporter of Alya’s skill though. And while Adrien is not a vengeful person by any means, he hopes both Lila and Mr. Damocles face long, long sentences that make them regretful of the ways they have tried to ruin an innocent woman’s life. The public seems to think so too, if the outrage and media storm that follows is any indication. People are furious at how Marinette was treated during the ordeal, and cry out for justice and Adrien has a feeling that justice will probably be served.

But he has bigger fish to fry, because when the time for Marinette’s plane to touchdown arrives, she is not on it.

He doesn’t freak out, not at first. He’s a little disappointed that he doesn’t get to see her and share with her how everything has been worked out, but he just assumes she’s missed her plane or decided to stay one more day with her parents and forgotten to text him. She’s never been good with technology after all.

But when a phone call to her mother reveals she doesn’t know where Marinette is, and a quick check with Alya and with Rose proves unfruitful, Adrien really starts to worry. She doesn’t respond to his texts, or his phone calls and no one seems to know where she is. News sites are too preoccupied with the juicy scandal that just broke headlines than to focus on something as mundane as the precise location of the newly coronated Queen, particularly since they can just call her grandfather if they want a statement.

She doesn’t come home the next day either. She does text him, once- a quick I’m ok, just needed to think through some things, and then after that her phone is switched of and any calls go straight to voicemail. He understands, on some level, why she goes off the radar. He can’t think of a point in the last few months- no, the last year that Marinette has had a moment to breathe. Problem after problem, catastrophe after catastrophe. Her father’s illness, the revelation of her true parentage, being unable to pay her father’s hospital fee, her marriage to a stranger, her coronation, the list goes on and this latest scandal is just another thing to add to a very long list.

But just because he doesn’t understand it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, and while he really does want to respect Marinette’s space, he can’t resist it when he finally gets a call from Alya. He’s given Marinette a few days space anyway.

“I will always wonder how you get the information that you do, Alya.” He tells her warmly over the phone as he gets into his car. She’s in a small town just within the border of the Coccinelle kingdom that he’s never heard of, but a few hours driving will get him there by mid-afternoon.

“A magician never reveals her tricks.” Alya teases warmly on the other side. “But I will say that it’s a combination of illegal and legal means so it’s probably better if you never ask.”

“Duly noted.” Adrien says. “I hope we’re close enough that you never use those means on me.”

“I don’t need to, Marinette will give me all the goss.” Alya tells him and he can hear the smile in her voice. “And I wouldn’t normally do this sort of thing because I’m all about people taking their space, but I know you and I know her. This’ll be good for her. Bring her back, ok?”

“I will.” Adrien promises grimly. Because he will, not because he has to or because he needs to, but because he knows Marinette will come back. She’s taken her space and she’s been through a lot, but somewhere deep in his gut he knows she’ll always come back to him and to their kingdoms.

The town Marinette has been staying in is small and quiet. Still but not in an eerie way. In a warm, lazy country-town sort of way. He dimly realises he knows this place. He didn’t recognise the name, but now that he’s here he recognises it as the place where the late Queen of the Coccinelle kingdom and Marinette’s birth mother was born and raised. He remembers his mum taking him here once, when he was small, to see the fountain that was built as a birthday gift for to the lost princess. It is funny now, to think that the princess that fountain was built for would one day become his wife and his love.

A vague sort of muscle memory guides his twists and turns as he drives through the main street of the town and eventually he comes across a small park. It is the one he remembers coming to with his mother. He pulls over and gets out of his car, wondering across the pebbled path that cuts through the smooth expanse of green. Then he sees it- distant and small at first, it grows larger and more beautiful as he nears it. Intricate patterns cut with loving care into pure white stone, fountain spray that catches the sunlight and playfully tosses back little rainbows, it is just a beautiful and wondrous as he remembers.

Its beauty pales in comparison to that of the figure he spots sitting at a park bench facing it. He cannot stop the warm, relieved smile from spilling across his face as soon as he registers her presence, and he walks over quickly to settle beside her.

“Hi.” He says softly. She glances at him and does not look surprised to see him here.

“Hello.” Marinette answers. “I see you found me.”

“Alya told me where you were.” He admits. Marinette releases a light laugh.

“It’s a little scary how much she can find out.” Marinette answers. “I’m sorry that it had to come to that- I was actually going to message you later today to tell you where I was. I just… needed some time.”

“No, no, no.” Adrien protests. “I should have respected your space- I was just worried, is all.”

“I don’t blame you.” She says warmly. “But I’m fine. I just wanted to think some things through.”

“What sort of things?” Adrien asks her. But rather than respond, she gets to her feet and wonders over to where a metal plaque is embedded in the side of the fountain. Adrien follows closely and reads the inscription.

Here, in this town, is where our beloved queen was born.

Here, in this town, is where we will remember her.

“I… would have liked to have met them, I think.” Marinette admits. She says it softly, like Adrien wasn’t meant to hear it, but then she looks at him with those huge blue eyes of her.

“They would have loved to meet you, I think.” Adrien answers, squatting down beside her and running his fingers over the inscription. Marinette just watches for a moment before she answers.

 “I won’t ever forgive him.” When Adrien looks confused, she elaborates further. “That reporter man. He ruined their whole lives- they spent 20 years longing after a daughter they’d never meet and who can barely grieve for them after they’re gone.” She clenches her fists and glances down. Hesitantly at first, but then with more confidence, Adrien reaches for her hand and pulls it into his.

“I never met them,” He confesses. “But I think you being alive and well and willing to protect their legacy would have been enough for them.”

Marinette smiles weakly at him. “I really hope so.” She tells him. Then she gets to her feet and uses their conjoined hands to help pull Adrien up.

“Shall we go home?” She suggests. “I took a taxi here- maybe we can get lunch and then drive back together?” Adrien smiles at her.

“I’d like that.” He tells her as he takes her by the hand as he leads her towards his car.

“What I wanted to think through,” Marinette says suddenly, after a few moments of companionable silence. Adrien pauses to look down at her. “Before. The thing I wanted to think through… It was about us.” She admits.

“Oh?” Adrien asks her, feigning nonchalance, but his heart begins a nervous gallop at her words.

“Do you… do you think we would have met if I never went missing?” She asks. “That’s not what I had to think about, but I’m just curious. Because, you know, I would have been a princess, and you would have been a prince of neighbouring kingdoms… surely we would have met sometime?”

Adrien laughs at the thought. He can almost picture it. Perhaps they would have met at a gala, or a charity event. He thinks he would have been bored and uncomfortable, perhaps searching for Nino, until the moment he laid eyes on her. He thinks, having met her without the burden of having to one day marry her, that he would have been instantly smitten. And she would have smiled, because she didn’t carry the weight of her father’s illness or her financial troubles, and maybe said hello. Maybe he would have asked around about her, and been curious to know more… and then maybe he would have asked her out. His father would have approved, and she might have said yes. And then, as time went on, they’d probably have gotten married, but only after taking the time to get to know each other. But they would have ended up in the same place as they are now. Married to each other and bound to each other. That much Adrien knows.

“I think we would have.” Is what he offers as an answer. ““No matter what… I think that we would have met because I think we were made for each other.”

To his delight, Marinette flushes a deep red and a smile crosses her face.

“Yeah?” She answers. When he nods, her eyes shine as she beams at him. “I think so too. That’s what I was thinking about. That I love you. That I want to be with you and that you’re not just my husband by title- you’re my real, wonderful husband, and I love you, Adrien.”

For all his bravado, for all his training in maintaining his composure, in that moment, Adrien is completely floored, and it takes him a while to say it back.

“I love you too, Marinette.” Is what he responds.

And that’s that. Neither Marinette nor Adrien knew what would happen, when they first decided to wed one another, but sometimes in life things do go well. And it went well for them, all the way home. All through their move, to the Coccinelle kingdom. Through the rocky start to Marinette’s reign as queen… not perfect but wonderful. Because they loved each other. And they do eventually get to go on that honeymoon, somewhere warm and tropical. Much, much later because they both have so many duties to attend to, but when they finally take it, everyone can agree that they’d earned it.

And on that honeymoon, Adrien decides he will marry Marinette (for real this time) on a boat ride to a nearby cove. He is surrounded by the vast, beautiful ocean with the warm scent of salt and baked sand thick in the air. The setting sun catches the side of Marinette’s face as she smiles at him and the decision is made in a heartbeat.

Marinette is a little slower to decide. But she decides will marry Adrien in a restaurant, sitting across from Adrien’s former seat while dressed in her finest clothes. The restaurant is empty- he has booked the whole restaurant out for their privacy. That had probably been the first giveaway that something was up. But she sits beside Adrien. He is down on one knee and she is surrounded by the harmonious sound of the violins playing in the background and the sweet taste of scented candles in the air.

The day of their wedding, not the royal one, but their very own, private wedding, dawns bright and sunny with not a single cloud to taint the expansive blue above them. Only one reporter bear witness to their wedding this time, and she is not there for a scoop. A few close friends and family gather around them and Adrien thinks he may even see his father smile at one point. It’s a small wedding, designed for no one but themselves and he meets Marinette’s warm blue eyes with tears in his eyes. He is not the only one crying. His father-in-law dabs desperately at his eyes as he bawls. He is pale and skinny but in good health. His mother-in-law does not sob like her husband but her cheeks do shine with tear tracks. Even Alya and Nino pause in whatever weird flirty eye contact exchange they had been having nearly the entire day to wipe a tear away. But the biggest surprise is Chloe. She sits, arms folded, looking like she swallowed a lemon, but Adrien recognises the single tear that slides down her face and he does not miss the slightest smile she tries to hide behind her hand.

And as he leans forward to press his lips gently to Marinette’s amidst the cheers of the people who love them most, he knows in his heart that this was always going to happen. That from the moment he first met Marinette’s eyes that he was going to love her with all her heart. And Marinette knows the same- that though countless misunderstandings came between them, though countless struggles tried to tear them apart, this was always going to be the outcome.

No matter what, they were bound to be together.

  **~*FIN*~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that's that! I hope you enjoyed it and I hope it was satisfying. It's been a really fun ride guys- thank you all for enjoying this fic, for leaving me reviews and for being invested. I don't think writing it would have been half as fun as it has if you guys hadn't all been along with the ride for me- I know some of you have been commenting pretty loyally from chapter 1 and I really appreciate that!! This was my first ever ladybug fic and I have to say, I'm pretty proud of how it came out. At times, it felt like I was pulling teeth (particularly with this last chapter, boy was it difficult to write) but here we are, at the end! 10 whole chapters of fluff and you guys are still here, I have to say, I'm pretty impressed!
> 
> As always, if you miss me or wanna come chat, come hang with me on the-protractor at tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang with me on tumblr, the-protractor! I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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